Fish Out of Water
by TheFisherKitty
Summary: High school Marshall is forced to move thanks to the demands of his father's job. And where does this change land him for his senior year? New Jersey, of course. A what-if story. M&M friendship and more? Now rated M.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own In Plain Sight, but writing fanfic is a balm for that wound!**

**Author's Note: This idea just came to me and I had to run with it. For story purposes I've made the presumption that Mary and Marshall are about the same age, which is probably not true but has not as yet been directly stated to the best of my knowledge. Obviously this story is AU, but it was a fun idea and I hope y'all enjoy it! For the record, Mary has quite a pottymouth. Are you really that surprised? =P  
**

* * *

**Fish Out of Water**

**Chapter 1**

Marshall Mann heaved a sigh as he shuffled down the street, backpack slung over one shoulder. The September morning held a slight chill in the air, although he suspected the warmth of fading summer would return by midday with accompanying humidity. He'd lived here for a month now, so he'd begun to get used to the weather.

_And that's about all I've gotten used to, _he thought with a huff as he scuffed his foot on the sidewalk. The toe of his boot caught on a section of concrete uplifted by a tree root and he stumbled, the backpack slipping easily from his slender shoulder. The boy wobbled, found his balance, and looked around to make sure no one had seen him as an embarrassed blush made his face burn. That was the last thing he needed, to be seen making an idiot of himself on the first day of school.

It would be hard enough to make friends as it was. Marshall didn't know anyone here. He was going into his senior year of high school, which should have been the time of his life, having been scooped right out of the happy microcosm of his existence only to be plopped smack in the middle of New Jersey. And what was the motivating force behind this sudden and disastrous relocation? _Seth Mann. _The Mann himself, as the man himself often liked to remark with a laugh. _Oh, but not a happy laugh,_ Marshall grumbled silently, _more like an egotistical chortle. Or perhaps a guffaw laden with schadenfreude. _

In any case, the career of the Almighty Seth Mann had intervened sharply in the young man's life, which while not idyllic, had at least been his own. And now, here he was, making his way by pavement to his new high school feeling every inch a dork. For one thing, he was walking, and he had a sense that this might mark him as lame from the outset. Now there was an irony, a person walking being labeled as lame. But it would surely happen. With the move, the truck he'd learned to drive on, and of which he had possibly been about to become the owner, had instead been sold off, too much of a bother to take with in this bold new advancement of Seth's pursuit of masterful dominion over the entire Marshal Service.

_And, circumstantially, all things Marshall get ground underfoot. _He hefted the backpack onto both shoulders. He was sure he looked like more of a nerd that way, but it was hard to keep the backpack on just one shoulder. It was probably bad for his back anyway, if his mother had anything to say on the matter. Backpack on both shoulders, button-down shirt that his mom insisted made him look nice for his first day, cowboy boots that he had loved back home but which he now felt made him look stupid and hickish. He was tall but not in a good way, gangly and not even close to filled out, and his hair was carefully arranged in a way that he hoped would look fresh but fell a bit short of the mark. He felt like the most uncool cow in line for the slaughter. Or maybe he was fresh meat about to be thrown to the lions. Fresh meat with lame hair.

He shook his head. He would just have to suck it up. It would only be a year, after all, until he could escape to college. He didn't even really need people to like him, if it was only a year. Except… senior prom.

Marshall heaved another sigh. It wasn't like he'd had a ton of friends back home, but there had been a few, and people at least knew him generally… and he'd had a fairly decent prospect for a prom date lined up. _Katinka. _Granted, back home, he'd been considered something of a geek and an outsider, more so in that some of the other kids felt that his father's profession made him likely to be something of a narc. But as an exchange student, Katinka hadn't fit in that well either, and they'd found each other. Their fledgling friendship had been on the verge of becoming a fledgling relationship when Marshall had been so callously uprooted. He'd almost had an actual girlfriend, as opposed to merely having friends who were female, a suspicious amount of whom wanted help with their homework.

Well, so much for that. Outcast though exchange students were, Katinka was pretty, and more than a little bit smart, and Marshall would bet money that she'd have a new boyfriend inside of the first week of school. He wouldn't be so lucky; exchange students were the exception to the rule. New students were untouchable, and he had the feeling that would be more true here than back home. The school gate loomed before him, and he hesitated, contemplating the nightmare he was about to face.

He became aware of the sound of feet pounding on the pavement behind him, and before he could turn, someone crashed into him with a grunt. He lurched forward but managed not to fall. The instigator of the collision pushed past him and he caught sight of a rough-looking blonde girl, with a ponytail and shaggy bangs overhanging her eyes, wearing an ill-fitting leather jacket. Their eyes met, and a frisson of intimidation tingled through him. Her eyes had a feral quality to them, like a wild animal.

"Watch where you're going, beanpole," she snapped as she jogged toward one of the classrooms.

Marshall sighed once more as the bell rang. _So this is how it's going to be here. _He trudged toward the office to pick up his class schedule.

* * *

The morning's classes had passed uneventfully. The teachers seemed to like him, which wasn't a bad thing, but it wasn't necessarily a good thing either. Marshall had been forced to take whatever undesirable seat remained in each of his classes, for he had, of course, arrived slightly late to each of them because he had no idea which classrooms were where. No one had talked to him much, but by then he felt it was better to be ignored than to be singled out, at least until he had his footing. And as far as footwear went, the boots would have to go. No one had said anything to him directly, but he'd noticed whispers and snickering as people cast sideways glances at his feet.

Dismissed from class by the lunch bell, Marshall made his way for the bathroom. It took him a few minutes to find one, and the one he found was at a far corner of the campus near the science building. As soon as he entered, his nostrils were bombarded with the smell of cigarette smoke. He was startled to see the blonde from that morning leaning against the sink. He turned back to check the door… it was definitely the boys' bathroom.

"What are you doing in here?" he asked, regarding her suspiciously.

"What does it look like, numbnuts?" her voice dripped sarcasm.

"I might have guessed you'd be the type to smoke in the bathroom," he drawled, "but I thought for sure you were a girl. I guess I was wrong."

"Whatever, dipstick," she grumbled. "Look, no one uses this bathroom, like, ever. The plumbing's fucked up or something so the toilets overflow all the damn time. That and it's really out of the way."

Marshall nodded slowly, then jerked his head in the direction of the cigarette. "You really shouldn't smoke those, you know."

"You want me to put this out in your ass?" she waved the cigarette. "You're not my dad. Asshole."

"Good guess, but my name isn't Asshole. It's Marshall."

The blonde rolled her eyes. "Why do you think I would give a shit what your name is?"

"Maybe because you're the only person who's said two words to me today," Marshall replied with a shrug.

"So you're introducing yourself to someone who called you an asshole just because no one else bothered to talk to you at all? Jesus. That's pathetic."

"Any more pathetic than smoking in an abandoned bathroom alone?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Way more pathetic," she scoffed. She stubbed her cigarette out on the sink and headed for the door.

"Nice boots, Marshall," she smirked over her shoulder on the way out.

_She's right, _he rebuked himself silently. _You are totally pathetic._

* * *

After the lunch bell, Marshall made his way to English class. He'd been looking forward to it because it was a subject he enjoyed more than most, and he enjoyed most subjects at least a little. Of course, he had trouble finding the room, and of course, there was only one seat left… and there she was. The blonde. Sitting next to the only empty seat. Marshall groaned inwardly. The teacher waved him to sit down.

"High school," the teacher launched into what sounded to Marshall like a prepared speech, probably one he gave every year, "is training for life. Some of you," the teacher beamed at a handful of students in the front row, "will go on to college, and will lead lives filled with great accomplishments. Others of you… _Miss Shannon…_"

The blonde jumped slightly at the name the teacher emphasized. _That must be her,_ Marshall realized. He felt sympathy wash over him as the class giggled and the blonde's face flushed crimson. She looked down at her desk as the teacher continued.

"Others of you will enter into the real world with only those skills you apply yourself to learn in the time that remains to you here. Obviously that will serve some of you better than others," the teacher went on, a smug expression playing rather unflatteringly across his face. Marshall felt indignation burning within him; he was angry that a teacher would belittle a student like that in front of the class.

"How do you know?" he blurted out before he could stop himself.

"Excuse me?" the teacher turned to him, a menacing glint in his eye.

"How can you know what she'll make of herself, or what anyone else here will, for that matter?" Marshall was terrified but he couldn't stop; once he'd let his righteous indignation have free rein, he found it difficult to reel it back in.

"You're new here, Mr.… what is it, again?" the teacher asked, his tone dangerous.

"Mann. Marshall Mann," Marshall replied steadily.

"Mr. Mann. You're new to this school, so there are some matters of which you are obviously unaware," the teacher broke into a sharkish grin that only served to increase Marshall's anxiety. "As your teacher, it is my job to educate you. As I was about to explain to the class, sixty percent of your grade will be weighted in the form of a term paper, on which a failing grade will result in failure to pass my class and therefore failure to graduate. This is to prepare you for the level of work which will be expected of you in college. But there is another aspect to this paper, one designed to train you all for the possibilities you will face in the real world. Unlike a college term paper, which is written by you alone, this will be a joint effort composed with the aid of a partner. You will find that your grade, and indeed your very future, will depend upon your partner, and theirs will depend upon you."

Marshall's heart sank as the teacher spread his hands broadly and addressed the class.

"I believe Mr. Mann here has just chosen his partner. What he will learn of Miss Shannon's abilities as a student… and as a person… remains to be seen." The class tittered again and the teacher went on to explain the rest of his syllabus. Marshall pressed his palm to his forehead.

"You really shouldn't have done that," the blonde murmured without looking up.

"Yeah," Marshall replied in resignation. "I know."

* * *

**A/N: There you have it, the first chapter of Fish Out of Water. Let me know what you think! =)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Don't own, so please don't sue!**

**Author's Note: I would like to point out that my senior English teacher was really wonderful and very understanding, not remotely the vindictive individual I've decided to portray in Mr. Brunswick. I've never had a teacher named Mr. Brunswick either. Just wanted to make that clear! =)  
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* * *

**Fish Out of Water**

**Chapter 2**

The rest of the first week of school was less eventful than the first day. Marshall had forgone the cowboy boots in favor of running shoes that seemed suitably average, and while his mother still didn't want him to wear t-shirts to school, a button-down and a pair of jeans didn't stand out too badly and his classmates were largely ignoring him. Gone were the giggles over his footwear. He felt a bit wistful as he left for school the following Monday, his boots abandoned on his bedroom floor, but it was a small enough price to pay not to be the butt of various cowboy-related jokes, which he sensed was a very real possibility in this place.

The morning was for the most part typical. It was the first suit-up day for physical education. Marshall had always performed reasonably well in P.E., enough to get by with mostly B grades, but it wasn't his favorite class. He understood the importance of physical activity but he craved activity of the mind above all. He liked badminton and had planned to try out for the team back home, but his family's sudden relocation had curbed the impulse. He didn't think his new school even had a badminton team.

The day wore on and he found himself in biology. He found there was little to glean from the course this early on, as much of it was introductory science that he already knew. Bored, he let his gaze wander to the window. It looked onto the P.E. fields, where a girls' class was playing field hockey. Marshall's interest perked as he saw a flash of golden hair. There she was; his recalcitrant English partner. He thought about what she'd said after that first English class together.

"_You're an idiot for standing up for me. I'm really not worth the trouble._"

Marshall had been mulling over her brusque dismissal of his assistance ever since. She'd said nothing to him in the past two days beyond an occasional grunt, and then only if he said something first. He decided she must be the kind of person who felt awkward when others stood up for her, but he didn't understand why she thought she wouldn't be worth it. As far as Marshall was concerned, people deserved to have someone in their corner unless they proved otherwise. As for trouble, sure, she smoked in the bathroom and was apparently regarded as a poor academic prospect, but how much trouble could one girl be?

He smiled as he watched her run down the field. She seemed to be an aggressive player, a fact that didn't surprise him even remotely. He thought about the only other thing he knew about her: her name. After she had called him an idiot that first day, he'd called after her, wanting to know what her name was, at least, and she had paused to answer him.

Mary. It seemed like a plain name for someone with her apparent proclivities. It suggested a certain virtuousness that he suspected might be wholly absent from her personality. He wondered if she acted as she did to rebel against the connotations of her name, or if there was more to it than that.

There was certainly more to watching her play than an appreciation of her drive. She was very fit, physically, well-muscled in a girlish sort of way, and agile, so that watching her move was like watching a predator pursue its prey. Each motion was a study in kinetic beauty, and the overall effect was enhanced by the way the midday sun made her hair gleam, as well as the fact that she was bouncy and curvy in all the places a girl ought to be. Marshall couldn't take his eyes off her.

Until the teacher thwacked his desk with the yardstick she used as a pointer. Marshall nearly jumped out of his skin and a strangled squeak escaped him; he'd been so engrossed that he hadn't even noticed her approach.

"If you're ready to pay attention to the lecture, young man, we can resume," she intoned with humor masked in mock severity. Marshall grinned sheepishly as the class giggled and the teacher returned to the front.

He made an effort to pay attention for the rest of the period, but he couldn't help sneaking an occasional glance out the window at the vivacious blonde. _Mary.

* * *

_

When the lunch bell rang, Marshall made his way to the never-used bathroom. After watching her from the window, he really wanted to talk to her again, and he suspected that if he could get her on her own, without other people around, she might let him. He didn't know why he thought Mary would be in the bathroom to begin with; in fact, she shouldn't be, because she'd just been in P.E. class and therefore would logically be in the locker room. He just had a feeling, though, and when he walked in, there she was… and there her shirt wasn't. He turned around quickly, trying not to look, but he'd seen her, however briefly. He should have realized she'd be changing her clothes, wherever she was.

"Come in here to sneak a peek, Pervis?" she asked, a teasing tone in her voice. "I change in here so I don't have an audience."

"I'm, uh… I'm sorry," Marshall stammered. "I didn't expect you to be… you know."

"Half-naked?" she goaded.

Marshall squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push away the mental imagery which, moments before, had been actual visual input. She'd been slightly sweat-slicked, her skin glistening and looking amazing even in the crappy artificial light of the bathroom; pale flesh segmented by the straps of a dark purple bra, and when she'd turned around…

"Indisposed," he corrected.

"Do you always talk like you're old?" Mary asked, laughing dryly.

"So I've been told, on occasion," Marshall fidgeted as he spoke. If she kept engaging him in conversation, he couldn't politely leave, and if she didn't put her shirt on, it was hardly appropriate to stay, however tempting. If someone walked in, however unlikely Mary claimed that possibility was, it could lead to rumors, and suspension… maybe even expulsion. He couldn't imagine what his father would do to him if he got expelled for being caught with the half-naked bathroom-smoker.

"Relax, Prudence, I'm decent. Well, I'm dressed, at least," she called to him.

Marshall turned toward her, but his gaze failed to meet hers. He found himself looking to the sink, the floor, his own shoes, anything to prevent himself from having to look at her directly.

"Um, hello? I'm over here," she muttered. "You're acting like you've never seen a half-naked girl before."

His eyes shifted guiltily to hers and back down.

"Oh my God. You _haven't, _have you?" Mary cried incredulously. "You totally have _never _seen a girl with even some of her clothes off!"

"I've seen women in bathing suits…"

"That doesn't count! If they're out in public it isn't like you're seeing anything special. And walking in on your mom getting out of the shower definitely doesn't count either."

"Okay, I've _never _seen that!" Marshall barked defensively. "Anyway, I've seen pictures."

"Of your mom naked?" Mary wrinkled her nose. "Kinky."

"Not of my mom! I mean like, you know…" he trailed off, trying to ignore the burning pink on his face.

"Oh, like porn," Mary eyed him, squinting. "But not real porn. Not you. You're more like a swimsuit issue or lingerie catalog kind of guy. No, wait… National Geographic."

"Actually, if you must know," Marshall replied in a haughty tone. "My dad has some magazines hidden in the garage."

"Your dad's porn stash, huh? Nice. More than I expected from you," she paused, adopting an air of casual indifference. "So… what did you think?"

"I think you really might be that girl my dad always warned me about," he muttered.

"I think everyone in my family is that girl," she stated cryptically as she picked up her backpack and stuffed her gym clothes inside. "Let's get lunch before class starts."

* * *

"Can you believe that bastard Brunswick?" Mary fumed. "I mean, where does he get off, assigning us _that?_"

"Literary study of Romeo and Juliet is a fairly common assignment in high school, Mary. It seems reasonable to me," Marshall said placatingly.

The pair walked home in the hazy glow of late afternoon. The September sun was warm, but it would soon set and the nights were becoming chilly. It would have been a peaceful walk, really, had Mary not been so upset. Marshall was rapidly beginning to realize that an upset Mary was not a good thing for anyone involved.

"I've got your literary study right here. They were stupid for killing themselves, the end. That's our term paper."

"That's all you know about the plot, isn't it," Marshall remarked dryly, more of a statement of fact than a question.

"Maybe," Mary glanced away uncomfortably. She hated to admit she knew less than other people, but it was a reality. While others had spent their young lives preparing to step into the adult world, she'd been caught up in just trying to make sure her whole family made it that far. What was left of her family, anyway.

"Fortunately for both of us, at my former school, my sophomore English class covered Romeo and Juliet, so at least one of us will be capable of writing this term paper properly," Marshall intoned with a meaningful glance at his companion.

"Don't you even go suggesting that I can't pull my weight, dillhole, because I can, and I will," she barked sternly.

"If you say so," Marshall demurred. "You don't really have to know anything about it from the outset anyway. That's the point of studying it. It's an opportunity to learn."

Apparently satisfied with that, Mary returned her attention to her grievances with their English teacher.

"Seriously, he had to just announce it to the class, for everyone to hear!" Mary's face burned at the memory of a roomful of whistles and catcalls. "And he didn't even say he was assigning it to us. He said, 'And you two are Romeo and Juliet.' Like that doesn't make everyone think we're… _you know…_"

"I'm sure no one actually thinks that," he sighed.

That part of the matter had bothered him too, though he wouldn't admit it to her. It was bad enough to like a girl like her, but to have the spotlight put on them like that had made him wonder how transparent he was. He hoped that hadn't been a factor in Mr. Brunswick's choice for their assignment, and Marshall reminded himself that it probably wasn't; more likely, it was the man's dislike of Mary and his choice to make the two of them his pet project that had led him to made the selection. That thought, however, was not as comforting as it should have been. It was still possible, and not to a degree small enough to be ignored, that the teacher was turning the screws in revenge for Marshall talking back to him on the first day of class as well.

"He freakin' _hates _me, Marshall! Telling us we're Romeo and Juliet is practically like saying, 'I hope you die.' Well I've got news for that asshole. I'm going to live forever, and I'll make a point of dancing on his grave someday."

"Come on, Mary. He doesn't want us to die. He just wanted to…" Marshall trailed off. They both knew damn well what Mr. Brunswick wanted.

"He just wanted to humiliate us in front of the class by implying that I'm boning you," Mary spat as she pulled out a cigarette.

"First, I think you have something backwards in that statement. Second," Marshall grasped her wrist loosely as he spoke, keeping the cigarette from reaching her mouth, "do you have to do that?"

"Seriously, Marshall, I am going to snap that hand off," she grumbled. Marshall removed his hand with a grimace; it was ultimately her choice, but he didn't have to like it. "You're unbelievable. You've known me a week and you actually give a shit whether or not I smoke?"

Marshall shrugged, and Mary contemplated the cigarette in her hand.

"Whatever. If it makes you feel better I'll just smoke it later when you aren't here," she said as she tucked the cigarette back into the package. They walked in silence a while longer, until they came to a small intersection.

"Yeah, so… I'm going that way," Mary gestured to the left; Marshall would be going straight and then right a bit further along.

"Okay," he nodded before continuing tentatively. "Do you want me to walk you the rest of the way?"

"Trust me, no," she laughed with a faint trace of bitterness. Marshall cocked his head to one side, perplexed.

"It's just… my family isn't…" Mary fumbled. "You wouldn't understand."

"You don't know that," he murmured softly.

"No, but I'm pretty sure," she replied. "Look, I don't really want to talk about it, and I don't need to be walked home, so..."

"I was thinking," Marshall interjected, "we should set aside some time to work on our project, maybe something like one night a week? I was thinking Fridays. We could walk home after school and we wouldn't really have to worry about how late it goes."

"Party nights are no good, I'm usually pretty busy on Fridays and Saturdays. Especially at night," Mary spoke quickly. "Besides, I'm not great at meeting people's families. I'm that kid from the wrong side of the tracks that no one wants their kid hanging around with."

"I don't think it would be that bad," he replied, even though he had the feeling that she was exactly right. His dad wouldn't like her at all.

"I have to get home. See you around," she replied noncommittally as she departed with a wave of her hand.

Marshall stood on the corner, watching her as she made her way down the street. Halfway down the block, she fished out a cigarette, and a moment later, smoke drifted into the breeze. His brow furrowed. She was exactly the kind of girl he shouldn't find appealing at all, so why did he feel so drawn to her? She made him feel like he was tangled up in knots, which should have been awful, but he liked it, and he didn't really understand why.

When she was out of sight, he turned and headed for home, trying to sort through his confusion.

* * *

**A/N: Romeo and Juliet! Don't worry, I have absolutely NO intention to write any suicides in here. This isn't that kind of story! I chose Romeo and Juliet because it's a common high school assignment and there are a lot of parallels to draw that even Mary can't miss... if she actually bothers to study, which remains to be seen! =P Tell me what you think of Chapter 2, and I hope to see you all again in Chapter 3!  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own In Plain Sight. I just like to write awesome stories about it for y'all!**

**Author's Note: Updating a little later than I wanted to... but the result is an extra long chapter! I got carried away while I was writing in a character from the show who had not yet made an appearance in the story! =P**

* * *

**Fish Out of Water**

**Chapter 3**

"Today, we're going to begin an assignment that will address your aspirations in life," Mr. Brunswick announced once the class was settled. "I'll be handing out a worksheet on which you will write a list of colleges you'd like to attend. Over the next few weeks, you will obtain admissions forms for the institutions on your list, fill them out, and submit them to me for review. Subsequently, you may mail them if you wish… and if you believe your chances of being admitted are reasonable."

Mary rolled her eyes as he distributed the sheets to the class.

"Like he hasn't already decided where each of us should go," she grumbled quietly. Marshall had a feeling her suspicions were right on the mark, and he was proven correct when Mr. Brunswick approached her.

"And what do you have in mind for your future, Miss Shannon?" he asked, his voice fairly dripping with sadistic merriment. "Brown? Vassar? Bryn Mawr?"

She bit her lip and remained silent.

"I've taken the liberty of filling your list out for you. You'll find the local community college listed as the first entry… which is, not coincidentally, also the last." The teacher dropped the paper on her desk before swanning off in the midst of the gleeful tittering of the class.

Mary's grip on her desk was white-knuckled as she struggled to keep the tears brimming in her eyes from falling. Marshall fought the urge to give their teacher a piece of his mind; he knew any intervention from him would only make things worse. Once Mr. Brunswick was safely engaged in assisting his favorite students with their choices, Marshall reached over and put his hand on Mary's wrist.

"Don't let him see you upset," he whispered. "It's what he wants and you can't give him that."

"I know that," she hissed, "but he kind of has a point, doesn't he? That's exactly where I'll end up if I'm lucky enough to even go to college at all."

"Mary, listen to me," Marshall growled softly. "I absolutely forbid you to hand that paper in with just his choice for you written on it."

"Yeah, and what else am I gonna put on there?" she laughed with quiet bitterness. "I don't know shit about colleges. I've never even thought about it before."

"I'll help you. You can just copy a few off of my list."

"I won't be able to go to any of them," she hedged.

"You don't know that yet," he murmured, "but that doesn't matter right now. Just don't give that asshole the satisfaction."

Mary nodded, still chewing anxiously on her lip, and watched Marshall while he quickly scribbled a list on his worksheet. He turned it toward her and she looked it over.

"Holy crap, Marshall! There are like ten schools on here!" _And none of them are community colleges_, Mary added silently.

"You only have to write down three or four of them," he replied calmly. She scanned the list.

"Cornell? Jesus, isn't that school like, a really big deal?" she asked, looking at him with wide eyes.

"Yeah, it's an Ivy League school… don't put that one on your list. It'll probably just set Brunswick off again," Marshall grimaced.

"Duh, I know that," she grumbled sarcastically. "But you're seriously applying?"

"I don't actually want to go there. I just want to see the look on his face when I show him the acceptance letter."

"You think you'll actually get accepted?" Mary eyed him dubiously. Marshall grinned.

"I like my odds. And the payoff will be spectacular."

Mary shook her head. "You're like some kind of weird, evil genius or something. So anything else on this list is good?"

"More or less. Stick to state universities, it'll sound plausible and they're usually more affordable, so you'd have a better shot at actually going."

"University of New Mexico?" Mary's lip wrinkled as she scribbled down a few random selections. "Why would you want to go there?"

"I like the southwest," he replied with a shrug, "and it adds variety to my potential options."

"You want to go there so you won't look like a dork wearing cowboy boots."

"Maybe," he said noncommittally.

Mary shrugged and added it to her list. _Better than New Jersey, anyway. Not that I'll be able to go…_

"Think that's good enough?" She handed the list to Marshall and he looked it over.

"Looks good to me," he nodded. "Now all you have to do is hand it in."

Mr. Brunswick had seated himself at his desk, presiding over the pile of papers in front of him which grew taller as the other students turned their worksheets in sporadically. Mary defiantly smacked her paper onto the top of the stack. Marshall, right behind her, added his own paper neatly to the pile.

"Well," the teacher smirked, scooping their worksheets up, "what do we have here?" The pair watched as he looked over each list.

"Really, Mr. Mann… Cornell?" he laughed. "Do you really think you have what it takes to gain entry into such a renowned institute of higher learning when you're willing to associate with the likes of her?"

"We'll see," he replied softly, but with conviction.

"Yes… I suppose we shall," Brunswick eyed him with irritation before turning his attention to Mary. "And should I simply ignore the fact that you've obviously copied the bulk of your list from Mr. Mann's worksheet? Haven't you an original thought anywhere in that little blonde head of yours, Miss Shannon?"

Mary's hands fisted at her sides. If she said what she felt like saying, she would probably get suspended, or maybe even expelled. If she jumped across the desk and punched the man in his bloated face, like she so badly wanted to, expulsion would be a definite. Even though so much depended on her lack of response, it was still a struggle. Her face burned with suppressed rage and unmitigated shame.

"Actually," Marshall interjected, stepping slightly in front of her without consciously realizing how protective the gesture was, "I couldn't help but notice the intriguing regional variety in her selections, and I decided to add them to my own. It certainly won't hurt to add some diversity to my options before I make my decision."

"You're fairly confident that this is a decision in which you will have your say, aren't you? You don't think you're being a bit presumptuous to assume all these schools would actually be willing to accept you?"

Marshall smiled humorlessly. "As I said before… we'll see."

* * *

"I told you before, you really shouldn't do that!" Mary ranted as they walked after school. "He's just going to end up hating you, too."

Though English was not their last class of the day, it had become the norm for them to meet up and walk home together, if only up to the point where they parted ways. She had repeatedly insisted that Marshall should not walk her home, and he could hardly force the issue, but he was curious. It was a dark curiosity; he had a feeling that whatever she was hiding about her home life, it was not likely to be good. Otherwise, why bother hiding it at all?

"I'm pretty sure he already does hate me, so I'm not worried about it," he stated dismissively.

"The man can keep you from graduating if he wants to!" she cried. "You're not taking this seriously at all! It's bad enough that I'm probably screwed as it is, do you think I want to take you down with me?"

"I told you, it's fine," Marshall stopped and put his hands on her shoulders, facing her. "There's no way he can fail me as long as I can prove I deserve a passing grade. I can take my case to the principal if it comes to that, and it almost certainly won't."

Mary shook her head. "I don't think you know what you're getting yourself into, Marshall. That bastard is horrible. He subbed for my freshman English class once. Something happened at home… anyway, I came in late, wearing dirty clothes and apparently looking too poor and raggy for his delicate sensibilities to handle, and he's had it in for me ever since. Every time he saw me in the halls, he'd either make a comment about my low breeding or find a reason to give me detention. I think the prick actually requested me for his class this year."

"Why do you let him get away with it?" Marshall asked softly. "Why don't you report him, go to the principal or your counselor?"

"Because they all know me, and they won't believe me," she muttered as she looked at the ground between their feet. "My mom… she's kind of a mess, and they won't believe anything coming from a kid with a mother like that. He has all the power and there's nothing I can do."

Marshall's jaw worked in frustration. Mary didn't seem to have one ally in the whole world, either at school or at home, not one person she could turn to for help. Except for him.

"Yeah, there is something you can do," he said firmly as he gently gripped her shoulders. "You can keep your grades up, just like me, and prove that you deserve to pass. Then you can graduate, go on to college, and make something of yourself. He can't tell you who you're going to be."

"You just don't understand, Marshall," Mary whispered. "It just isn't that easy, not for me…"

He was about to ask her for an explanation, because what he didn't understand was how she could be so defeated before she even tried, but he was cut off by a shriek coming from the end of the block.

"Mary! Mary, help me!" the voice cried, and Mary's head immediately snapped up to look.

Marshall followed her line of sight and saw a small blonde girl pounding down the sidewalk, heading in their direction. Tears streamed down her face and one of her shoes was missing. He tried to guess her age but it was difficult; she was small, but well-developed physically, and the way she was dressed made him think more of a tiny adult than of a child… at least, if the tiny adult in question was also a hooker in training. She wore a skirt so short her panties showed when she ran, and her tank top was low-cut to the point of being appalling. He thought he might have her pegged as an undersized fourteen year old, but it was really hard to tell. Mary brushed past him and ran to the girl, catching her in her arms.

"What is it, Squish? Are you okay? Tell me what's wrong," Mary asked, frantic as she pawed the girl over, checking for any obvious injury or mishap.

"I was… walking… home, and…" the girl choked her words out through tears and hiccups, "… and there were these boys… and they… they tried to grab me… and I ran away…"

Mary hugged the girl tightly to her, stroking her hair as she shushed and whispered soothingly. "It's okay, Squish, it's okay… they didn't hurt you, did they?" Marshall didn't miss the worry in her tone; Mary wasn't nearly as calm as she was pretending to be.

"Nuh-uh," the girl whimpered, shaking her head as she buried her face in Mary's shoulder. "But I was scared…" The girl burst into fresh tears, and Mary glanced worriedly to Marshall, who had caught up to her. The girl, he realized, had to be Mary's little sister.

"What's wrong?" he asked quietly.

"Some boys harassed her, I think." Mary pulled back from her sister determined to get to the bottom of the matter. "Do you know who these boys are?"

"No," she sniffled. "But I think they go to the junior high, maybe? They said they were waiting for me…"

"Where, Squish? Can you show me where?" The girl nodded in response to her sister's question, and took her hand to lead the way.

"Should we call someone?" Marshall asked, concerned. "The police, maybe?"

"No!" the smaller girl shouted. "No cops! It's a rule."

"Shush, Squish!" Mary commanded before turning to Marshall. "I'd rather not. I'll handle this."

"I could call my dad, if that will help," he offered, perplexed at their odd reaction to the mention of law enforcement.

"What would your dad do about it?" Mary asked, squinting at him. Then her eyes widened as she understood. "Oh my God… your dad isn't a cop, is he?"

"Kind of. He's a U.S. Marshal," he replied. Mary rubbed her face with her hand.

"This has got to be some kind of joke," she muttered. "I finally get an actual friend and his dad's a goddamned federal agent. Fucking wonderful."

"You've had some experience with federal agencies, I take it?" Marshall asked dryly.

"You could say that. I don't want to talk about it, though, if it's all the same to you," Mary sighed. "Anyway, I have to deal with this."

"Come on," her sister pulled her arm. "I'll show you where they were."

The sisters headed down the street, and Marshall felt compelled to follow after.

* * *

The girl, whose name turned out to be Brandi, was indeed Mary's little sister. She was much younger than Marshall originally thought. Rather than fourteen as he had guessed, she was in fact twelve. _"Twelve and a half!" _she had enthusiastically corrected her sister when Mary had revealed her actual age. She was apparently an early bloomer, a trait that ran in their family, according to Mary.

They had retraced Brandi's path, but the boys were long gone, although they did find Brandi's other shoe along the way. She'd been so afraid that she had run right out of it. Afterward, they didn't go home but went instead to a small park. _"You know how Mom will react if we go home while you're still upset," _Mary had told her sister, and though the statement didn't make the best sense to Marshall, Brandi had nodded as though it was a piece of genuine wisdom being handed down by an enlightened authority.

Marshall sat in silence next to Mary, who was watching her sister play on the playground equipment. He was genuinely surprised that she had not commanded him to leave, and the more he thought about it, the more he came to believe that this was some kind of test of loyalty, one which he had the impression he was passing. She would never have allowed this in the first few weeks they had known each other, but it had now been almost a month and it seemed Mary had come to accept his presence in her life.

"You know," Mary spoke, breaking the silence between them, "I've told her a dozen times this month not to go out dressed like that. She'd probably get harassed anyway, since sixth graders with boobs are apparently really choice targets for shithead boys like those, but the outfits aren't helping. Not that it's her fault, since those are the clothes Jinx bought for her."

"Jinx?" Marshall asked softly. "That's your mom?"

"Yeah. It's her real name too," Mary sighed bitterly. "It just makes me realize that none of us ever had a chance."

"What do you mean?" he prodded. It seemed like Mary was in a talkative mood and he didn't know when another chance to fill in the blanks would present itself.

"Jinx was like Brandi is now. The body of a grown-up and none of the brains to go with it. I got lucky; I was pretty stacked in sixth grade, but I was too mean for the boys to keep at it for long. But Brandi's different. She's never guarded, too easy to take advantage of. Jinx was probably like that too. She was going to be a dancer, or something, and I guess she was pretty good, but then all of a sudden she was pregnant with me and married to a guy who was way too old for her. Obviously she was older than Brandi, but still…"

"What about your dad?"

"He left, when we were little. I was just about to turn seven, and Brandi wasn't even two yet."

"He just left you? He didn't even say goodbye?" Marshall was horrified. He couldn't imagine someone just walking out on their family. His own father might be a jerk most of the time and he wasn't always around, but that was the job. He would never just leave.

"He left a note. I found it later. I never heard from him again, but…" Mary looked at the ground. "That wasn't the end of it. There were cops, and then men in suits, feds, who asked us all sorts of questions about where he'd gone. There were marshals too, who said it was their job to find him, but I guess they never did."

"Fugitive recovery," Marshall supplied, nodding. "That's what my dad does."

An awkward silence settled once more. Mary seemed to be chewing something over; the inner conflict showed on her face, along with what looked like worry or fear. Finally, she spoke again.

"Daddy… robbed a bank. At least that's what they told us," she revealed. "So does that mean you're going to hate me now?"

"What?" Marshall was taken aback. "Why would I hate you for something your dad did over ten years ago? He isn't you."

"I just thought… since your dad's a marshal…" she hesitated.

"Well, you thought wrong," he said firmly. "My dad doesn't choose my friends, and as far as I'm concerned, your dad has nothing to do with us."

Mary smiled faintly. "So are you named Marshall because that's what your dad does?"

"Yeah, but in a more roundabout way than you'd expect," he replied. "My dad's a fourth-generation marshal. My mom wanted me to be something else, so she named me Marshall."

Mary's brow furrowed. "So if you were a marshal… you'd be Marshal Marshall?"

"Yeah," he smirked.

"I can see how that would keep you from following in your dad's footsteps. So what do you want to be?"

The smirk broke into a full-blown grin. "A marshal."

"What? No fucking way!" Mary's eyes widened. "You actually want to be a marshal? U.S. Marshal Marshall Mann?"

Marshall broke out laughing. "Yeah, I really do! How cool would that be, to have my name match my job?"

"You're fucking nuts," she shook her head, but couldn't help smiling at his enthusiasm.

"I think it's more crazy not to go after what you really want," he said with a pointed look.

Mary cocked her head and looked at him thoughtfully. "You're like one of those little talking mice in a kid's movie, you know that?"

Marshall froze as an appalled look passed over his face, but Mary realized he was no longer looking at her. She turned and saw what had caught his attention: Brandi, dangling upside-down from the monkey bars by her knees, skirt and tank-top forced by gravity to hang in completely the wrong direction.

"Mary! Marshall! Look at me!" the girl cried in glee.

"Squish, for the love of God!" she shouted as she dashed over to her sister. "You're showing all your underwear! You're too big for this now, remember?" _Thank God she's wearing a bra, _Mary thought, shaking her head. That had been a recent but necessary addition to her sister's wardrobe.

"Sorry! I forgot!" Brandi apologized, not sounding particularly contrite as she flopped to the ground in an awkward dismount and straightened her clothes.

"Go play on the slide or the swings or something. It'll be getting dark soon and we can go home then. Mom will probably be out."

Mary made her way back to Marshall as Brandi scampered around.

"Sorry about that. The other girls at her school all do that, with the bars. They just aren't built like her yet. She really doesn't get it."

Marshall nodded. "So your mom's going to be out? Isn't she wondering where you are?"

"Probably not. She'll just assume I'm watching Brandi, and she'll go about her business," Mary heaved a sigh as she sat down.

"Um… what business might that be?" he asked in a dubious tone.

"If you're thinking my mom's a hooker, she isn't," Mary replied defensively. "But I guess she's not that far off. She goes out to drink and look for men to pay our bills. Mostly drink."

Marshall couldn't think of anything to say, so he reached for Mary's hand and took it in his own. Mary was tempted to pull it away, but for some reason, she found the gesture comforting. The pair sat, hand in hand, keeping watch over her sister until the sun began to set.

* * *

**A/N: Brandi! I enjoyed writing Brandi as a kid in all her raised-by-wolves naiveté. For me, she epitomizes the kid that's been royally screwed by fate and just doesn't realize it yet. Let me know what you thought of this chapter, and join me again for the next one! =)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own In Plain Sight. It's just fodder for my imagination! ;)**

**Author's Note: Sorry for the skipped update yesterday and the late update today. Yesterday, the muses would only let me work on chapters that come much later in the story, and today... well let's just say my word processing program kept crashing like the Titanic on an iceberg, and my mother was having a bad day of Jinx-like proportions. My mother I can deal with, but computer problems? Nooooo! X(**

**Anyway, at long last, here's an update!**

* * *

**Fish Out of Water**

**Chapter 4**

"Oh my God!" Mary shouted as she took the stack of forms in her hands and tried to tear it in half. The thick pile resisted her efforts, she felt, purely to spite her. "This fucking _sucks_!"

"Give them to me before you ruin them," Marshall said, grabbing the forms and trying to wrest them from Mary's grip before she destroyed all the work she'd done so far. She clung to them wrathfully, determined to exact her vengeance. A brief struggle ensued, each of them grappling with the other for dominion over the papers, until Mary's hands slipped free against her will and Marshall emerged the victor.

"You know, these college applications don't care if you rip them," he growled, glaring at his now petulant friend. "All that would do is prevent you from even applying."

"It's stupid to even try. I won't get in anyway," she huffed. "And even if I did, I can't afford it."

"It's stupid _not _to try. You could almost certainly qualify for financial aid," he replied as he turned his attention to smoothing out the wrinkled sheets of paper, scanning the information she'd entered so far. "A lot of it, by the look of things. And there are student loans to cover what that doesn't. Now, give me the pen."

Mary watched him warily as she handed over the writing implement. He took it and set about filling in the rest of the top sheet.

"Hey, what are you doing?" she cried, reaching to snatch the forms from him.

"These are getting filled out one way or another," he muttered as he batted her hand away.

"And you think Brunswick won't notice when my applications have your handwriting all over them?"

"He won't notice, because it isn't going to look like my handwriting."

"What? Let me see," Mary said disbelievingly, leaning over to see what he was doing. "So you're like, an expert at faking other people's handwriting or something?"

"Not an expert, no," he showed her the sheet. "You were already printing in block letters, and block lettering is a lot harder to distinguish than cursive or even regular printing. It's not like Mr. Brunswick is a handwriting expert either, so all I have to do is make it look passably not like mine. See, your handwriting is rounder and mine's more cramped."

"You're a nerd for knowing that stuff," she grumbled. "You really don't mind filling those out?"

"Oh, I mind. I also want it to get done, though," he paused, glancing at her. "If you stop pouting, I'll give you something nice tomorrow."

"Don't talk to me like I'm a little kid, you jerk!" she snapped. After a moment, curiosity got the better of her. "You're really going to give me something?"

Marshall nodded while he continued to fill in the paperwork.

"Well… what is it?" she prodded.

"I'm not telling."

"Come on, you have to!" Mary whined. "I can't wait until tomorrow."

"I'd give it to you now if you'd come to my house. Filling out forms in a windy park on the back of a notebook is less than ideal," he pointed out.

"No way. The criminal's kid hanging out with the marshal's kid is bad enough. You really think that having me meet your family is going to be a good thing?"

Marshall stopped writing and looked up thoughtfully. "You know, I _just _realized how completely appropriate that is for us."

Mary stared at him blankly. "Am I supposed to understand what you're talking about? Because I don't."

"You will," he said with a smile, and hunched over to continue writing.

Mary flopped back on the grass. Marshall said a lot of weird things, that wasn't new, but it had started to irritate her more lately than it had at first. She didn't really understand it; it wasn't angry irritation like she was used to, but more like a blush-inducing, fluttery thing, and her inability to figure it out pissed her off. It wasn't really Marshall's fault. It was her, some problem she had, and resolved to sort out whatever it was on her own.

The mid-October wind gusted sharply, tugging at the papers as Marshall wrote. The top sheets slipped away before he could catch them and skittered across the grass.

"Crap," he muttered, jamming the remaining papers under his backpack and scrambling after the ones that had scattered. Mary jumped up and followed suit.

They ran after the forms, still being tossed by the wind, and grabbed them up as they went. Soon there was only one left, and they both went for it at the same time. Their feet tangled and Marshall fell, reflexively grabbing Mary who had also lost her footing. He hit the ground and a half-second later Mary landed squarely on him, forcing the air out of him in a grunt.

Neither of them moved for a moment, recovering from the suddenness of the fall, then Mary planted her hand on Marshall's chest and pushed herself up, robbing him of what little breath he'd managed to get back. He oofed softly, scrunching his eyes shut in discomfort. Realizing he was still pinned to the ground, he opened them and blinked. He froze as he registered Mary's face above his; she was straddling him and looking down at him with wide eyes, a faint blush tinting her face pink. Her hair was draped around her face, cascading toward him and glinting golden in the fading light. He knew he should tell her to get off of him before she realized he liked it, but he couldn't do it; she was too beautiful, and thankfully, she wasn't sitting low enough on him to realize the reaction she was provoking from him. He scarcely dared to breathe, lest it snap her out of the moment, so he just stayed still, looking at her, the papers he'd gathered up still clutched in his hand.

Mary's heart thudded as Marshall's eyes opened and he looked up at her with breathless surprise. His hair was disheveled slightly from the fall, and the blue and white plaid of his cowboyish button-down shirt brought out the blue of his eyes. She found the sight of him, pinned to the ground under her in the grass and dirt, to be strangely exciting. The fluttery sensation she'd felt lately when she was around him had condensed into a tightly-wound knot of anticipation, and she was acutely aware of the warmth of his body where it was pressed against her own. She was suspended in the moment, unable to think clearly at all.

The two moved at the same time; Marshall reached for her just as she noticed the rogue sheet of paper they'd been chasing out of the corner of her eye and launched herself after it. His hand hovered where it had been about to settle on her hip, and then dropped as he pushed himself off the ground and followed after her.

"Hey, Marshall, I think we got them all," she smiled, hoping it was convincing. She didn't know what she was feeling for him, but whatever it was, she was certain someone like him didn't belong in a life like hers.

"Hard to say," he murmured as he took the papers she had and added them to his. "I'll take these home and see if I can get them back in order tonight."

* * *

Marshall plodded home after school, Mary's college applications in his book bag. He'd spent the past evening flattening them all out as well as he could, putting them all in order, and dutifully filling out each one. Among them, he had found her half-assed attempt at a cover letter; he'd taken it upon himself to rewrite it and type it up. He hoped he'd come up with something that sounded passably like Mary, albeit a version of Mary who actually cared whether or not she got accepted. It wasn't so much the case that she didn't care, but more that she couldn't allow herself the luxury of caring about something that might never happen.

He had intended to give the forms to her at school today, along with the gift he'd promised her the day before: a copy of Romeo and Juliet that she could use to study for their paper if she wanted to. It featured plain text translation on each facing page, as well as appendices of criticisms, discussion of themes, and explications of selected important verse, which he felt would help the development of their paper's central thesis considerably. He'd bought a second one for himself; he wanted his reading to be as close to exactly the same as hers as was possible, though of course the subjective nature of experience precluded perfect uniformity. Still, if she mentioned something from page forty-two, he would be able to look at exactly what she was seeing, and that would make the learning process go far more smoothly.

His intentions had come to naught, at least for the day, because Mary had been absent. He'd looked for her on the P.E. fields from his vantage point in biology class to no avail, but he'd allowed for the possibility that she was for some reason sitting out for the day, or that perhaps her class was in the gym. A lunchtime visit to the bathroom he'd come to think of as theirs had yielded no Mary either, however, and when at last he sat in English class alone, he was forced to accept the fact that she simply wasn't there.

He knew it wasn't a personal affront to him. He seriously doubted she thought he'd stay up late to do her paperwork for her. She was a far cry from the girls at his old school who had tried to befriend him for homework privileges. He didn't think she even wanted anything from him other than company, and even that she wouldn't admit to wanting. She didn't ask for favors, generally; he just felt compelled to bestow them, and there was no mystery there. He had developed a crush of epic proportions, that much he had figured out, but the trick was to keep her from finding out about it. Marshall understood intuitively that it had taken a lot for her to accept his friendship, perhaps more than she generally had to give, and anything more than that was beyond her at the moment and would very likely frighten her off.

He'd lain awake the night before, though he'd exhausted himself staying up to finish her applications, thinking about their encounter in the park that afternoon. He might have called it heavenly, if heaven involved heart-pounding, dry-mouthed nervousness, clammy hands, and a huge bruise on his ass. At least Mary hadn't been injured, though she had complained of landing on something too bony to be comfortable. The double meaning of her words was clear, even though she was only joking. _She doesn't know the half of it. _Marshall glanced around furtively, as though his thoughts were somehow in danger of becoming public knowledge.

It was then that he realized he'd taken the less direct route home out of habit, the one that passed by Brandi's elementary school. Mary had taken to picking her sister up if she wasn't going home with one of her friends, of which there were a few; in that area, the twelve year old was far more resourceful than Mary was. It made no sense to take this route today, since Mary wasn't even there, and Marshall was in the midst of mentally chastising himself when he spotted Brandi.

The girl stood on the sidewalk, casting anxious glances up and down the street, clutching her pink backpack with a white cartoon cat on it. The character was fairly popular, it seemed, and Mary had confided to Marshall that she'd bought it with money meant to replace her own ratty, holey bag because Brandi had wanted it so badly. Evidently, among Brandi's classmates, if you didn't own at least some educational paraphernalia branded with the character, you were no one of consequence.

Brandi spotted Marshall as he approached her. "Hi, Marshall!" she chirped, looking happier. "Did Mary send you to get me?"

"Not exactly," he said, his brow creasing with concern. It was unlike Mary, at least recently, to leave her sister waiting. "Is Mary sick? She wasn't in class today."

"Mary isn't sick," she answered, "Mom is. When she got home this morning she wasn't feeling well."

Marshall frowned. Something about Brandi's statement felt scripted, as if she was repeating something she'd been told.

"Mary said she might not go to school today, but she was still supposed to come pick me up!" Brandi added plaintively. "She wouldn't just leave me here!"

Upset, her voice carried, attracting the attention of a teacher, a motherly woman in her forties. She made her way to them in quick strides, a concerned look on her face and a clipboard in her hands.

"Brandi, who are you talking to?" she demanded, eyeing Marshall suspiciously.

"Miss K, this is my friend Marshall!" Brandi introduced him excitedly, grabbing his hand. "He takes me to the park sometimes. I accidentally showed him my underpants!"

"I'm her sister's friend," Marshall spluttered at the teacher's alarmed look. "I walk home with them, that's all!"

"Listen, I don't know who you are, but you can explain yourself to the police!" the teacher said, grabbing Brandi's hand out of his.

"Oh, wait, Miss K!" Brandi wailed. "I forgot! He's on my list!"

"I'm what?" Marshall asked, confused, as the teacher flipped through the papers on the clipboard.

"You're Marshall Mann?" she asked in a dubious tone.

"Uh, yeah," he replied as he fumbled for his wallet. "Here's my driver's license."

"Very well, your name is on the list and your ID checks out," the teacher said, her tone shifting as she turned to Brandi. "I'll see you in class on Monday, okay, sweetie?"

Brandi beamed. "Bye, Miss K!"

The teacher scowled at Marshall one last time before hurrying to break up a scuffle between some younger students.

"What's the list about?" he asked Brandi, taking the backpack she held out for him to carry.

"Oh, it's a list of people who are allowed to pick me up from school. Mary added you, so it's okay."

"Oh, it's okay?" his eyebrows shot up. "You almost got me arrested, and it's okay?"

Brandi grinned unrepentantly. "Almost doesn't count! Now, walk me home!"

He narrowed his eyes at her as they walked down the street. "Are you perhaps secretly evil?"

"Mary says it's not a secret," she giggled as she trotted ahead of him.

* * *

They took the walk quickly, spurred on by Brandi's exuberance at having gotten to be the center of attention, however briefly, and by Marshall's concern for Mary. He hoped they would see her on the way, that she would have some easy excuse like her watch stopped or she couldn't find her keys, but that wasn't the case. His worry grew as they walked. He also noticed that the neighborhood took a turn for the slummy after they passed the corner where Mary always left him; small, shabby houses, low-rent apartments, and run-down duplexes were apparently the standard, and as they rounded the corner, he saw two police cars pulled up in front of the third house down.

A belligerent man dressed in stained pants and a wife beater was bellowing at the top of his lungs and pulling against his handcuffs as a pair of uniformed officers dragged him across the lawn. Suddenly, a thin, dark-haired woman sporting a black eye flew out of the house, shrieking as she smacked at the officers.

"Don't you dare arrest my boyfriend!" she screamed. "You goddamned gorillas! Let him go!"

One of the officers whirled on her, spinning her against the cop car into which the other officer was depositing the apparent boyfriend and deftly pinning her arm up behind her back.

"That's enough, lady," he said as he pulled a second set of cuffs out and snapped them around her wrists. The other cop, now free of his payload, helped to manhandle her into the other car in all her kicking and screaming glory.

"You can't arrest me! You Nazis! You… you Gestapo!"

"Crazy bitch," one of them said as he closed the door and cut off the woman's abuses midstream.

"Oh, no! Mom!" Brandi wailed in dismay. She started toward the action, but Marshall caught her arm and held her back.

"Brandi, don't. It'll make things worse," he murmured to her gently. She burst into tears and clung to his hand.

Just then, a familiar figure emerged from the front door of the house. Mary had her palm pressed to her forehead in agitation, and she looked generally disheveled. She was wearing a tank top, her arms bare, and Marshall could just make out angry, hand-shaped red marks on both her lower and upper arms where someone had grabbed her roughly, apparently more than once. The marks, he was sure, would become bruises by the next day. He felt a cold rage tearing through him, and wanted nothing more than to get hold of whomever had made those marks and take them apart piece by piece.

One of the officers approached Mary. "You'll have to come back to the precinct with us to make your statement, seeing as your mother decided to do this the hard way."

"I understand, but my sister's still at school and I have to go get her," she murmured, trying to remain calm as she thought of Brandi waiting all alone or worse, on top of all else that had happened.

"Is that her? The little blonde girl with the tall guy over there?" the cop asked, pointing.

Marshall saw the officer point to him and Brandi. When Mary looked in their direction and saw him standing there, the expression on her face turned from distress to anguish mixed with humiliation and shame. She turned to the cop and excused herself; the officer nodded permission and she walked over to Marshall his charge.

"Hey, Squish," she greeted her sister.

The forced pleasantness in her voice and accompanying smile on her face made Marshall's heart clench. He hadn't realized until that moment what it meant to hurt for another person's suffering.

"Marshall, you shouldn't be here," she turned to him, speaking softly in an effort to not alarm her sister further.

"Just tell me how I can help," he replied, wanting to reach for her but, in light of her injuries, he could see no safe way to do so.

"I have to go with them, give a statement and then make whatever arrangements I have to for Jinx. It would be easier if I didn't have to take Brandi with me, and better for her if she doesn't have to go."

"I can watch her," Marshall confirmed. "I'll take her to my house and wait for you to call. You still have my number?"

Mary nodded and turned to her sister. "Squish, you're going to go home with Marshall, so behave yourself. I don't want his family to get a bad impression."

"Actually," he interjected, "my dad got called out for a manhunt early this morning, so he won't be back for days, and my mom has bridge so she'll be out late. You've got plenty of time."

"Thanks, Marshall," Mary smiled sadly, her eyes betraying her shame as they brimmed with tears. She turned quickly and headed back to the waiting police officer.

* * *

**A/N: I swear, Brandi just writes herself. I want to thank my reviewers for the wonderful reviews I've gotten. They are truly fuel for my writing process! Please keep letting me know what you think, and keep coming back for more! =D**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Don't own it, just love it!**

**Author's Note: There was a scary five hours this morning during which the power was out due to storms, but it came back on in time for this to get written! Don't you feel lucky? I know I do!**

**Also I decided to make up a tiny little bit of background for Marshall's mom, which has not particularly much to do with show canon as of this point. Hope you like. =)  
**

* * *

**Fish Out of Water**

**Chapter 5**

"Wow. You live here?" Brandi took in the two story house, which to Marshall's eye seemed fairly standard.

"Yeah, my parents bought it when we moved here. It's smaller than the house we lived in before, but my brothers don't live with us anymore."

"Your parents actually own it?" her eyes widened.

"Um, I think they might be making payments on it for a while, unless my dad decides to move again, but yeah," he informed her as he unlocked the front door and ushered her inside.

"Mom always just rents, unless she doesn't," Brandi commented. "Then sometimes, we live in a tent until she can rent again."

Marshall froze, trying to make sense of her statement and failing. "What?"

"Well, Mom says that rent is too expensive sometimes, and it's silly to pay it when we could be camping instead." The twelve year old wrinkled her nose. "I don't really like camping that much though. My clothes get all dirty and my sister has to hide money from Mom to take our stuff to the Laundromat."

"That's, um…" Marshall faltered, his throat choking up slightly. Much as he might have wished otherwise, he had the disturbing feeling that Brandi was telling the truth, and what she'd told him made him feel slightly ill. It was no wonder Mary thought there was nothing good in store for her in life; there apparently never had been.

"Got anything to eat?" Brandi chirped hopefully.

Marshall pointed to the kitchen doorway just down the hall and Brandi scurried off. He let his eyes fall closed and he took a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out. He needed to compose himself; the poor kid had seen enough today without having to watch him lose it too. He heard the fridge open with a pop and a rattle of condiment bottles, followed by an astonished gasp. He made his way to the kitchen and found Brandi gaping at the contents of the refrigerator.

"How many people live here?" she breathed in wonder.

"Three," he answered, and Brandi's face fell. "But my brothers only moved out a few years ago so my mom still shops like she did when they lived here," he backpedaled quickly.

The girl nodded, apparently accepting his answer. "And you and your brothers are boys, too. Mom says girls don't need as much or else we'll get fat."

"Well," Marshall said slowly, forcing his voice to sound calm even while he was raging at Jinx on the inside, "you can eat whatever you want to when you're here."

"But most of this stuff isn't even cooked…" she hesitated, eyeing the contents of the fridge dubiously.

"You pick it and I'll make it," he offered.

"Really? You can make all this stuff?"

"Just about anything in there, yeah," he assured her. "My mom's a retired home economics teacher and she taught me how to cook."

She cast another glance in the fridge. "No soda?"

"Not usually. My mom didn't like for us to drink it too often."

"Mary says the same thing to me all the time, but Mom says what a person drinks is nobody else's goddamn business," Brandi paused as Marshall let out a frustrated sigh. "But Mary says I shouldn't anyway, so no soda is fine."

Marshall poked through the contents of the fridge, looking for something to make that she might like. He glanced at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Ever had stir-fry?"

"What's that?" Brandi asked, her nose wrinkling.

"It's like Chinese take-out, but you make it yourself at home."

"Oh my God, really?" her eyes lit up.

"Yes, really," Marshall replied with a smile. He swiftly grabbed the ingredients from the fridge and let the door fall shut.

* * *

Marshall lay awake for the second night in a row, in turmoil over Mary again but for wholly different reasons. He had known her mother had problems and had long harbored suspicions that there was more to her home life than he'd been told, but his imaginings on the subject hadn't even come close to what he'd seen that afternoon or what Brandi had told him afterward. He had known on an intellectual level that there were people who barely subsisted within society, failing to pay rent, going without food, and having unfortunate encounters with the police. It was one thing to be told that people sometimes lived that way, but another thing entirely to actually know someone in that situation and bear witness to it firsthand.

Then there was the matter of Mary's bruises; obviously someone had handled her roughly, though he wasn't completely certain who that person was. Jinx's black eye certainly suggested the boyfriend as an obvious suspect, but Marshall wouldn't put anything past Mary's mother after the display he'd witnessed. The woman would be incredibly lucky if she didn't get charged with assaulting a police officer on top of being drunk and disorderly.

He rubbed his stomach absently, trying to dispel the sick knot of worry which had formed there as he played through the day's events. Mary had said she would call, but she hadn't, and he genuinely believed she would have if she had been able. If it was just him, she very well might withdraw as a result of her own shame, but she wouldn't abandon Brandi without good reason, not in a million years. And there was another thing; his heart ached for his friend's sister, who gamboled through her life along a cliff's edge of how badly off she truly was without ever realizing that she was only one fall away from the truth. He worried for what might become of her once that fall came, and the way things stood, it seemed inevitable.

After dinner, Brandi had been delighted to discover that Marshall's family had cable; some of her friends did too, she'd explained, but of course her own family couldn't pay the bill. Marshall often preferred books over television, but he was exhausted and cable TV proved to be a distraction worthy of Brandi's attention span. As the evening wore on, she had ultimately fallen asleep on the couch, curled up under a throw blanket. Still waiting for Mary's call, Marshall had simply turned the volume down, and eventually he'd dozed off sitting next to her.

He'd woken up to the sound of his mother's key in the lock and had quietly gotten up to meet her at the door. She had been surprised and doubtlessly disconcerted at the unexpected presence of a twelve year old girl in her home, but she hadn't challenged his assertion that a friend had a family emergency and had asked him to babysit. By unspoken agreement, her unasked questions would be addressed in the morning. Brandi was out cold, so Marshall had scooped her up and settled her in the upstairs guest bedroom so he could be close by in case she needed anything.

Since he'd gone to bed, it had started to rain. He'd listened to the sheeting rain on his window and the distant rumble of thunder for about an hour; the rumbles became louder as the lightning drew nearer, boom chasing flash in a meteorological game of tag. Suddenly, there came a flash of lightning that was accompanied by the sharp crack of air displacement almost instantly. The intensity of it made him jump slightly, and as he breathed slowly in an effort to calm his racing heart he noticed that the hall light had gone off and there was no ambient sound in the house; the power had gone out.

In the sudden stillness, he heard something he hadn't before; a small, frightened whimper from down the hall. He got up, padding quickly down the darkened hall to the guest bedroom, the door of which had been left ajar to allow for illumination from the light in the hallway. He pushed the door open further.

"Brandi?" he called softly, not wanting to wake her if she was still sleeping.

"Marshall?" her frightened voice squeaked back. "I'm scared."

"Because of the storm?" he asked as he sat on the edge of the bed. Brandi shook her head.

"I had bad dreams," she quavered, "and when I woke up I was somewhere weird, and then there was lightning and thunder and the lights went off."

"You're in the guest bedroom, and the storm knocked the power out," he said reassuringly. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I'm scared," she repeated simply. "Please don't leave."

Marshall hesitated at her unexpected request, then nodded. "Okay," he said as he scooted up and sat with his back against the headboard. "I'll be right here."

Brandi grabbed hold of his hand and clung to it. After a while, her grip relaxed and her breathing evened out; she'd finally gone back to sleep. Marshall sat in the dark, ankles crossed on top of the covers, his head leaned back against the wall. He glanced down at Brandi every now and then, confirming she was still sleeping; otherwise, he stared into the darkness of the room, lit occasionally by a flash of lightning from the receding storm, as he tried obsessively to sort out Mary's situation. Neither she nor Brandi could go on like this for much longer without lasting damage being done, if it wasn't already too late… but he had no idea what to do about it.

* * *

"So, Marshall," his mother ventured, "who is this friend of yours?"

She eyed him expectantly while she pulled pancake ingredients from the cupboard and the fridge. Marshall leaned backward against the counter, hands tucked in the pockets of his jeans.

"Um, just someone from my English class," he answered, trying to sound nonchalant. "Actually she's my partner for that term paper the teacher assigned."

"She? So is this a girlfriend we're talking about?" she probed, arching an eyebrow at him.

"She's a girl who's also a friend," he clarified. "Don't make it sound like more than it is, Mom."

"She's a girl who's a friend, who has you watch her little sister overnight?" she queried skeptically.

"There were extenuating circumstances," he countered. "It was an emergency."

"What kind of emergency? Is everything going to be alright?"

"I hope so," he replied honestly but evasively, hoping his mother wouldn't realize he hadn't answered her first question... but to no avail. She set down the mixing bowl she'd been holding and planted her palms on the counter with a huff.

"That isn't an answer, Marshall. What is this girl involved in that you don't want to tell me? And why haven't your father and I met her yet, if she's such a good friend that she's got you handling her family troubles?"

"Mom…" he began, unsure what he was even going to say. He was spared having to find out, at least for the moment, when Brandi came in.

"Marshall, can I have something to drink?"

He reached for the cupboard and handed her a glass. She went to the fridge and selected a bottle of orange juice.

"Brandi," Marshall's mom asked kindly, "would you like to help me make pancakes?"

"No," she replied innocently, sipping her juice.

Marshall's mother fixed him with a pointed gaze.

"Brandi…" he prompted, his tone gently informing her that she'd just been rude.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, her face scrunching as she fished for the appropriate response. "No, _thank you_!" she added with a smile of pride at having been what she believed to be polite before trotting back to the living room with her drink, determined to make the most of having access to cable.

Marshall rested his face in his palm as his mother stared after the girl with wide eyes.

"What kind of home does this child come from?" she asked in appalled astonishment.

"I'm guessing the kind where asking someone if they want to help with something is perceived as an actual question rather than a command," he sighed. His mother pursed her lips in disapproval and began mixing the pancake batter.

"Mom…" he started again, wanting to explain, wanting his mom to accept the only friend he had, but he didn't know where to begin. She held up her hand, silencing him.

"Marshall, I'm worried about you. You've never been so… so secretive! I came home last night to find you babysitting a little girl whom I haven't even heard of but who seems to know you very well, and you're telling me you're friends with her sister whom I have never met and you won't explain why, and you claim her family had some sort of emergency but you won't tell me what it was!" She paused, forcing herself to calm down. "I won't tell your father about this, _yet, _but if you don't start being up front with me and soon, I'll have no choice."

Before Marshall could reply, the phone rang. His mother, hands full of breakfast-making utensils, gestured to the wall phone with a batter-coated spatula. He grabbed it without having to be told twice, hoping it would be Mary, and it was.

"Marshall?" she asked after he picked up.

"Yeah," he said softly, stretching the phone's cord as he inched around the door frame into the hallway, his mother watching from the corner of her eye. "Where have you been? I thought you were going to call last night."

"I'm so sorry, Marshall," she murmured tiredly. "They took my statement but they couldn't get anything out of Jinx until she sobered up, and even then she was… difficult."

_So the woman was drunk after all, _Marshall thought bitterly.

"Anyway, I didn't get home until almost three in the morning. It was too late to call," Mary continued. "I'm really sorry I left Brandi with you all night."

"It's okay," he murmured quietly, knowing it wasn't quite true but also knowing that Mary didn't need to be burdened by his mother's disapproval.

"Did she at least behave herself?" Mary asked. Marshall thought he could hear her cringing.

"She did, actually," he answered. "So do you want me to bring her by? She was about to have pancakes."

"Um… well, the house is pretty trashed and I want to get it picked up while Jinx is still sleeping," she replied, hesitating.

"Want me to come help?" Marshall offered, grimacing at the knowledge that Mary's mother had somehow been released after all.

"No," she answered quickly. "I was wondering if you could keep Brandi for a few more hours while I finish cleaning up. She's seen it like this a few times before, but if she doesn't have to…"

"That's fine," he answered quietly.

"I'm really sorry," Mary whispered, sounding like she was holding back tears.

"I told you, it's fine," he said more firmly. "I really don't mind."

"Okay. I'll see you later."

With a click, the line went dead. Marshall slipped back into the kitchen and hung up the receiver.

"Well?" his mother prompted.

"I'm meeting her to drop Brandi off later."

"And this 'emergency'?" his mother's voice betrayed her skepticism.

"I guess it all worked out," he shrugged in reply.

Marshall knew it was, in fact, extremely unlikely that anything had been resolved, but he wanted to hear what Mary had to say before he decided anything. He wasn't okay with deceiving his mother, but if he told her outright that Jinx had been taken away by police the day before, there would be rushes to judgment and he could very well lose Mary forever. Somehow, that no longer seemed like a tolerable option.

* * *

Mary sat on the park bench, staring blankly at the grass. It was coated in a fine sprinkling of moisture; the previous night's storm had been followed by sporadic showers in the morning. Marshall had called with uncanny timing just as she'd felt the house was set well enough to rights, and she'd arranged to meet him here. It now early afternoon and by the time Mary left the house, Jinx was still asleep as she had been since just after they'd come home in the small hours of the morning. Upon their return, Jinx had announced an end to the whole unpleasant mess and dramatically served herself a sleeping pill with a vodka chaser, passing out in bed shortly thereafter and leaving Mary to deal with the aftermath. Mary was fine with that even though deep down she felt she shouldn't be, but messes were always easier to clean up with her mother out of commission.

Gleeful, childish laughter broke over her musings and Mary looked up to see a familiarly tall figure approaching… though he was slightly hunched over due to her sister riding on his back. Marshall wore Brandi like a backpack, her gangly legs dangling through his arms and her own arms draped over his shoulders and encircling his neck. Completing the image, Brandi was wearing her own cat-emblazoned backpack in an unintentional imitation of herself, and Mary, though preoccupied by less than happy thoughts, couldn't help but laugh.

"Hi, Mary!" Brandi squealed, causing Marshall's grin to turn momentarily into a wince as she was right next to his utterly defenseless ear.

"Hey there, Squish, you're really traveling in style," Mary said, smiling. "Got something to say to Marshall?"

"Thank you, Marshall!" she squealed again, hugging him tightly around the neck.

"Oh God… choking…" he gasped out.

"Oops, sorry," Brandi apologized as she slid from his back to the bench and hopped to the ground.

"Go play for a little bit, okay?" Mary said to her sister. Brandi didn't need to be told twice; she ran for the playground as soon as she'd discarded her backpack on the bench.

"How was she, really?" Mary turned to Marshall.

"She really was well behaved, but she's heavier than she looks," he answered.

"I know, I can barely lift her anymore," she agreed. "You must be stronger than you look, string bean."

"Mary…" Marshall turned to her, looking serious. "How are _you, _really?"

"As well as can be expected," she sighed. "It could have been worse. Not by much, though."

"What happened?"

"They decided not to hold Jinx after all, let her off with a warning. She was drunk in her own home, for one thing, and there's really no law against that. As for attacking the cops, she was really more loud and annoying than anything, and they didn't seem to think it was worth it to keep dealing with her."

"And that guy? I take it he hit your mom."

Mary grunted bitterly. "Yeah, that's why I called the cops yesterday. That guy's a real piece of work. On the other hand, I've got a wad of his money stashed in my heating vent that'll go a long way when rent is due."

"You stole from him?" Marshall looked at her, eyes widened in surprise.

"No, of course not!" Mary glared at him. "It's money Jinx gave me for various things, that I stashed. But she got it all from him."

"So is he out of the picture now?" he asked, concerned.

"Who fucking knows," she grumbled. "Jinx refused to press charges, and it wasn't hard for the police to believe she fell and blacked her eye while she was drunk."

"What?" Marshall asked disbelievingly. "So he's just free to go?"

"The cops told me they'd hold him as long as the law allows without charging him, give him time to cool off, but yeah, that's it."

"That's unbelievable! How can they let him go, with… you know… that…" He gestured to her arms, now hidden inside a soft, baggy sweater.

Mary crossed her arms defensively, feeling vulnerable. "He didn't do that," she muttered quietly.

"Then who the hell did? Your mom?"

"She was upset that I called the cops. She grabbed me and shook me a few times, that's all."

"'That's all'?" Marshall growled. "You can't live like this, Mary. This can't continue. How do you think this is going to turn out for you? For Brandi?"

"I can't live like this? This is _all _I've ever lived! This is all there _is,_" she bit out her retort. "And it's all there ever will be," she added quietly.

"That isn't true," he spoke softly, his chest tightening with emotion at seeing her so defeated. "There can be so much more than this."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. College, a career, a life," she sighed.

_And me, _he thought longingly. Now definitely wasn't the time… the problem was, he wasn't sure there would ever be a time that was right for that. Unable to say what he was feeling, he reached for her and drew her into a gentle hug instead. To his surprise, she hugged him back after a moment. _For as long as she'll let me, _he resolved silently, _I'll be here._

"What can I do?" she whispered shakily. "Anything I could do would get Brandi taken away from me. If I can just hold on long enough… just until I'm old enough…"

Marshall closed his eyes. There it was, the heart of the matter; Mary's sister was all she had, and she would do anything to keep her, even if it meant giving up everything or letting herself be hurt. The difficulty lay in the fact that as surely as Jinx was tearing Mary apart, she would inevitably damage Brandi as well. It was a thorny situation; while there were several obvious solutions, all of them would cause Mary to lose the one thing that held her together.

"No matter what you need," he murmured, "I'm here."

* * *

**A/N: Oh, Marshall... what are you getting yourself into? Sigh.**

**Again, so many reviews! Thank you all so much! Please let me know how you liked this chapter, and as always, stick around for the next one! =)**_  
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	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own In Plain Sight, but writing about it sure is kinda pretty good, maybe, in comparison... =P**

**Author's Note: Due to circumstances beyond my control, I'm going to have to cut down on frequency of updates. =( Boo, I know, I want to write 'em as much as you want to read 'em. I'd planned to take a trip to visit my dad, a bit later, but a while ago he realized it was a better deal if I came out earlier. Between that and the fact that I intended this to be a much shorter story - it turned out to have a lot more to it than I thought, which I love - one thing has overrun the other. But, I will have regular access to a computer and at least some free time. Therefore, I'll be striving to update at least every other day, or twice every three days where possible. I DEFINITELY will not abandon this fic.**

**Positives: There will still be regular updates, and the story has a ways to go! Let's do this, people! (Meaning me, mainly.) =D**

* * *

**Fish Out of Water**

**Chapter 6**

The lunch bell rang on Monday morning, and Marshall arrived at the bathroom just in time to see Mary, already clad in a t-shirt, pulling the same loose-fitting sweater over her head. He caught the briefest glimpse of her bruised arms and bit his lip, resolving to say nothing. They had already discussed the matter in a brief moment of vulnerability on Mary's part when they'd met up on Saturday, and he was fairly certain that further inquiry wouldn't be as well received. His suspicion was confirmed when she pulled out her pack of cigarettes and lit one; her tough girl front was firmly in place.

"Haven't seen you smoke in a while," he commented. "I thought maybe you decided to quit."

"Nah," she shrugged. "You just got so bothered that I stopped smoking around you, and besides, Brandi's with us after school most times and I won't smoke in front of her, ever."

"So why now?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Are you kidding? You know the weekend I had, and I couldn't get a minute away from Brandi after I got her back from you."

Marshall nodded and sighed. He still didn't like it, but Mary was in a tenuous place emotionally and if he pushed the subject, he didn't know what she might do. He didn't want to think she'd write him off completely, but she would be angry at the very least, and after what he'd seen of her home life he knew she would be inclined to push him away and go lick her wounds alone.

"When did you start?" he asked, aiming for a tone of neutral curiosity and largely succeeding.

"Toward the end of last summer. There was this guy, Mark," she stared off vacantly, reminiscing, "and we hung out, and I picked it up from him."

A jealous pang lanced through Marshall and he shifted uncomfortably where he sat on the floor. Whomever the guy in question was, she'd obviously liked him; it was written all over her face. He tried his best to hide his discomfort. For her to realize he liked her would probably be a bad thing, but if she realized it right when she was in the middle of telling him about some other guy, that would be more than he could bear.

"So was he your boyfriend?" he maintained a casual front as he asked, though he cringed on the inside. He didn't really want to ask more, didn't want to hear certain answers that he thought were highly probable outcomes, but he couldn't help it. It was like picking at a scab, horrifying yet compulsive.

Mary shrugged. "No. Not really. I mean we never _did _anything. He was just sort of around," she paused. "I think maybe he wanted to, though."

_Who wouldn't? _Marshall thought as his mind picked over what she'd told him. She hadn't been with the guy in a physical sense, he'd picked up that veiled meaning in her statement well enough, and that was a good thing… a really, really good thing, as far as he was concerned. But the guy had wanted to, and however reasonable that was, and it definitely was, Marshall found that a small but growing part of him suddenly hated this person he'd never even met. Then, he picked up on something else.

"You said he _was _around… so he's gone now? Did he transfer schools or something?" he asked hopefully.

"He didn't go to school, he was like twenty-two," she replied, and Marshall's eyes widened. "But yeah, he stopped coming around. I heard he got a few months for burglary or vandalism or something like that."

Marshall's jaw hung open for a moment before he could collect himself enough to respond. "And you didn't think a twenty-two year old guy hanging around with high school girls was even a little creepy?"

"It isn't that weird," she said defensively. "It's only a five-year age difference."

"That's a pretty _big _difference. That's the difference between us and Brandi, for example. If someone our age went after her…"

"That's completely different," Mary snapped, not wanting to concede his point. "Brandi's only twelve. I'm almost eighteen."

"Yeah, okay, so pursuing twelve year olds is an entirely different kind of sick," Marshall agreed, "but twenty-two? That's old enough to have graduated college, although that doesn't seem likely in this case given that he's doing time."

"That was just a rumor," Mary muttered. "Besides, even if he did come back, it's not like he'd still be interested in me anyway."

Marshall scowled. Everything he was hearing about this Mark character had wrong written all over it. Though it seemed unlikely the guy would be coming back anytime soon, it wasn't impossible, and from Mary's tone, Marshall knew she had definitely liked the guy. When she'd said he probably wouldn't still be interested, she'd sounded faintly disappointed.

Mary stubbed out her cigarette, lost in thought. She'd put Mark out of her mind when he'd stopped showing up, but now that she'd been talking about him, she realized she'd actually liked him. Not that it was worth anything; he'd vanished from her life as men had a tendency to do. As far as she was concerned, he was written off… wasn't he?

* * *

"College applications and cover letters: hand them in!" Mr. Brunswick declared once the class was settled in their seats.

"Aww, crap," Mary moaned, dropping her face to her desk. "I completely forgot about those."

"No, you didn't," Marshall murmured, slipping a file folder to her when the teacher's back was turned.

Mary flipped through the folder. "Holy cow, Marshall! You really filled all these out? And you wrote cover letters?"

"Just one of the many services I have to offer," he replied as he pulled out a second folder and went through his own applications once more.

"You didn't have to do that," she said with a small smile, touched by the gesture; she'd been so caught up in the weekend's events that she hadn't given the applications a single thought, hadn't even remembered he had them, and still, he'd covered her back.

"I know." He couldn't keep a smile of his own off his face.

So what if she'd liked that Mark guy last summer? It was a complication, but a minor one. Mark wasn't there now, and Marshall was; now that he'd had time to mull it over, he'd come to believe that improved his standing considerably. He could maybe even step up his game a bit, though not too much. He didn't want Mary to pull away from him, so he resolved to tread lightly.

"Well, now, Miss Shannon, what do you have for me today?" Mr. Brunswick appeared, swooping in from nowhere like a character in a vampire movie, shark's grin in place. He snapped up the folder from Mary's desk and leafed through it. His eyes widened.

"I shudder to speculate as to the activities to which these papers have been subjected that would account for their battered state," he smirked, chuckling briefly at his own imaginings, "but regardless, you have in any case somehow managed to complete them. Who knew you could be so full of surprises?" He handed the folder back and put a check mark next to her name in the grade book.

"Of course, what would truly surprise me would be if you actually bothered to mail them," he added with a sneer, and after flipping through Marshall's folder and finding it in order, he merrily moved off to consult with his favored group of students.

"What would really surprise me is if you ever figured out how to pull your head out of your ass," Mary grumbled under her breath at Mr. Brunswick's retreating back. Next to her, Marshall choked back a laugh.

* * *

The afternoon was sunny, though chilly as autumn took hold. Fallen leaves skittered along the sidewalk, chased by the gusting breezes of the season. Mary looked halfway relaxed as they walked, apparently beginning to shed the stress of the weekend. Brandi was going home with a friend and Jinx had no expectations of Mary for the afternoon, so she was free for at least a few hours. Marshall smiled; he was beginning to see how few and far between good days were for his friend, and he knew how badly she needed one.

"Hey Marshall," Mary spoke softly, the wind ruffling through her long hair, making it glimmer in the sunlight. "What was that thing you were going to give me? I totally forgot about it until just now."

"Oh, that," he replied earnestly. He'd been waiting for a good opportunity to bring it up but hadn't yet managed it. "It isn't anything to get too excited about, but I have it in my bag…"

He shuffled through the contents of his backpack, finding the book exactly where he'd put it the Friday before. He handed it to her and she took it with raised eyebrows.

"Romeo and Juliet, huh?" she asked. "Can't say I've ever been given a book before."

"Well, I thought you could use it, you know, for our paper," he hedged nervously. "It's got a lot of really useful information in it…" he trailed off.

_What was I thinking? _he chastised himself. _She probably hates it. I should have realized it wouldn't be interesting to her…_

Mary flipped through the book. She'd been worried that she wouldn't be able to make sense of it, but to her relief she found that across from every page of indecipherable prose was a modern English translation. She realized Marshall must have chosen the specific edition with that in mind.

"Thanks," she said with a small smile. "This is really great."

"Are you sure? Because if you don't like it, you don't have to accept it. I mean, you can tell me you don't like it, and if you don't want it you don't have to keep it," he babbled.

"No, Marshall, I really do like it," she stopped him with a hand on his arm. "I won't have to bother with a copy from the library and I won't have to wade through all that damned old-timey English."

Marshall smiled brightly. "See, that's what I was thinking. I even got a copy for myself," he said, his enthusiasm returning.

"Really?" Mary asked. "I thought you already read it before. It's not like you need the translation."

"Well, I know, but I wanted to be able to read it how you were reading it. That way, it'll be easier to work together."

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I don't exactly have a lot of reliable free time," she hesitated. "There's always the chance that Jinx will get drunk or Brandi will need me, and stuff like what happened on Friday isn't that unusual for me."

"It's okay," he replied, his enthusiasm refusing to be dimmed again. "You can read it whenever you have time, and we can go over it at lunch or after school. Why don't we go to the park and take a look at a few scenes?"

Mary shrugged. "I guess we could do that. It isn't like I have anything else to do."

After arriving at the park, the pair settled under a tree, its leaves lit up blazing red by the shifting season and the afternoon sun. Mary read silently with Marshall looking over her shoulder, occasionally pointing out a line for him to explain, and here and there he read sections of the play to her. He'd told her plays were best seen and second-best read aloud, because it was then that the words really came alive. Mary figured, at first, that he was talking out of his ass yet again, but as she listened to his voice as it flowed over words she didn't know, she began to understand. Though much of the actual dialogue was lost on her, she could begin feel the meaning of it, the cascades of prose bringing life to the modernized text she had already skimmed through.

"I get it now," she murmured into the cool evening air. "That thing you said about how this relates to us. It's because their families are on opposite sides of this conflict that has nothing to do with them, but at the same time it means everything."

Marshall smiled. "Something like that, yeah."

"That thing at the beginning though, about both families being 'alike in dignity'… that isn't true for us. There isn't much dignity to be found in my family, as you've already seen."

"Well, no, though in this case the term 'dignity' is meant to indicate their social standing as opposed to their personal graces," Marshall expounded, "but the argument could be made that the Montagues and Capulets are both lacking in the latter department. In the play, everyone else more or less hates both houses for fighting and causing problems for everyone else."

"Like people tend to dislike police in general and criminals for causing them to show up. I bet the neighbors were thrilled with Jinx's spectacle on our lawn," she said, nodding. "But our families aren't of equal standing either."

"That's true, and I won't pretend that we live in a society where that doesn't matter," he replied gently, leaning sideways so that his shoulder bumped into hers. "But it doesn't matter to me."

Mary glanced at him, a soft blush pinking her cheeks that she hoped would only look like windburn from the blustery autumn breeze. She met his gaze briefly and then shifted hers away quickly; she'd caught him looking at her with intense focus, his eyes assessing her with what possible intent, she knew not. Her blush deepened as she was embarrassed to have been caught looking back.

"So what about Rosaline?" she asked him, seemingly out of nowhere.

"What about her?" he murmured distractedly, finding Mary the more interesting topic of thought.

"Romeo was all into her, and then suddenly he wasn't," she continued. "So why should I even believe that he loves Juliet so much? How could he really know?"

"He loves her," Marshall stated softly. "He thought he loved Rosaline, but meeting Juliet made him realize he never did. And when it happens… you just know."

"Before you moved here, did you love someone?" Mary asked suddenly.

"Sort of. There was a girl I was thinking about dating," he said offhandedly.

"Tell me about her."

"There isn't a lot to tell. She was an exchange student. We were friendly enough, and I liked her, but it never went anywhere," he responded.

"Because you moved?" she questioned.

"That was part of it, but… I don't know. In retrospect it seems like there was something missing," he shrugged.

"Was she a Rosaline, or a Juliet?"

"A Rosaline," he replied. "Definitely a Rosaline."

* * *

Mary trudged up the sidewalk to her house. The afternoon had been an escape in which she had indulged, but when the sun had set and the temperature dropped, reality had come crashing back. She'd headed home as she inevitably must, her feet feeling heavier with every step. She felt like for a few hours she'd been a normal person with a normal life, and as much as she'd liked it, she also felt it was a dangerous delusion to chase.

And then there was Marshall. She didn't know what to make of whatever it was that she was feeling for him, overcome by the occasional wave of giddy sickness when she was around him or even when she was just thinking of him, sensations which weren't exactly pleasant but which she could not ignore no matter how hard she tried. She thought of his words earlier; _'But that doesn't matter to me…'_ She wished he wouldn't say things like that. It made her wish for impossible things. It wouldn't matter that he didn't mind where she came from; sooner or later, and probably sooner, someone would, and that would be the end of it.

_The end of what? You don't even know if he likes you. Hell, you can't even decide if you like him… _Mary sighed. If she was being honest with herself, which she hated doing, she wasn't sure there was room left for Marshall in her heart. Other men had already taken up residence there, like her father, like a handful of would-be stepfathers to whom she had tried to attach herself until she finally caught on that none of them would be sticking around for long… like Mark, brief and nearly nonexistent though that had been, whatever it was. She felt, deep down, that she shouldn't be wasting such precious space on people who were gone and would never be coming back, but she couldn't help it. Learning to uproot any of them would mean letting go of her father, and that, she could not do.

Mary slid her key into the lock and let herself in. She was relieved to find Brandi already home; it meant one less thing to do. Jinx had evidently been playing up the role of good mommy, because Brandi had even been fed, wonder of wonders. It wouldn't last, but it gave Mary a small break, and after greeting her sister, she slouched off to their shared bedroom and flopped onto her bed.

One side of her face buried in her pillow, she blew a breath out toward the other side and watched as some of the hair that was draped over her face flew upward in a small burst and gently fluttered back down. For her entire life, she'd felt trapped between a rock and a hard place, and while not exactly comfortable it was at least familiar territory. Now, she was trapped between her immovable past and multiple possible futures that had never before seemed within her grasp, and that was far more terrifying.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews! I love reading them so much. Let me know what you think of this chapter, and I hope you'll be around for the next one as well! =)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own In Plain Sight, and I'm too sleepy to make my disclaimer sound clever! So let's just pretend I did. =D**

**Author's Note: Finally, an update! Not getting to work on this story for two days was just killing me! But despite my dad's distraction tactics (not fun vacation stuff either, I'm talking about him wanting me to help him choose a new air conditioner, a topic about which I know NOTHING) I am happy to present you with the latest installment of our story! Yay!**

* * *

**Fish Out of Water**

**Chapter 7**

"Hey, Mary!" Marshall called as he spotted his friend walking her sister to school. The girls turned around, stopping to wait for him, Brandi waving enthusiastically. He broke into a trot to catch up with them.

"Good morning, Marshall!" Brandi cried happily, hugging him. He hugged her back by way of greeting, and turned to her sister.

"Did you mail in your college applications like you promised?" he asked, slightly breathless from the sudden run in the cold morning air.

Mary rolled her eyes. "Yes, I did, for all the good it will do. You can stop nagging me now."

Marshall fell into step with them, smiling. Things were going well between him and Mary. They were still only friends, but they were better friends than ever, and he spent as much time with her as he could.

This early in the morning, his breath frosted in the air when he exhaled. The rest of October had slipped away and it was now nearing the end of November, marked by cold air, naked trees, and temperature drops at night. Gone were the storms of late summer and early fall; winter, though not in full force, had arrived.

Walking home with Mary, and often Brandi as well, had already been part of their routine for some time, but now Marshall also met the sisters on his way to school occasionally. Mary was leaving her house earlier these days so she could be assured of seeing Brandi safely to her elementary school while still making it to her own classes on time, which caused her schedule to align with Marshall's, who was a naturally early riser and liked some cushion in his schedule. It helped, too, that he often turned up ahead of time to wait for them to appear, pretending when he saw them that he had only just happened along. He was pretty sure that Mary suspected the truth, but he also knew she needed the pretense in order to be comfortable with his presence, however much she enjoyed it.

It was becoming clear, he realized, that she enjoyed his company more than she would generally care to admit. It wasn't uncommon for him to be included in all sorts of activities as a matter of course; unless he had other obligations, which were rare, his inclusion was simply assumed and he accepted whenever possible. They went everywhere together. The park was the usual place, but there were also errands like grocery shopping which Jinx often did not do, and every now and then they went to the mall. The latter, he sensed, made Mary slightly uncomfortable, because she couldn't really afford to buy much, but Brandi loved to go and look in all the windows, and Mary was increasingly won over every time Marshall paid for lunch.

He and the sisters were fast becoming inseparable, which Mary wouldn't admit to herself but which he accepted, and he was certain that he was not alone in that sentiment. Brandi, at least, seemed to feel the same. He'd even watched her again on a few occasions so Mary could more easily deal with her mother, though there had been no overnight stays and no repeats of the debacle with the police.

Marshall's mother had even taken a liking to Brandi, though she still held reservations about Mary, whom she had not yet met. He could say this for the younger of the sisters: the kid could really turn on the charm when she was so inclined, and his mother, though dubious, had eventually been won over. He'd helped Brandi navigate the finer points of his mother's personal code of etiquette, a process of careful coaching that had involved many questions which had no particularly good answers other than "just because."

He smiled fondly as he recalled a particularly good memory. Brandi had a Halloween carnival at her school on the last weekend of October, and she'd wanted to go as a cat. Mary had complained to him bitterly that it was probably the last time her sister would get to dress up, but she couldn't afford to buy a costume for her, so she would have to give up that idea in favor of whatever the closet yielded. Mary seemed to accept the unfairness of it, but was resentful that she couldn't take the burden of it upon herself and spare Brandi the loss of this one last vestige of childhood.

Marshall had casually mentioned it to his mother while Brandi sat in front of his television set one afternoon. The girl had been staying with him on that occasion after Jinx had fallen while inebriated the night before. Though not seriously injured, once the woman had woken up the next day she had pitched a fit until Mary agreed to drive her to the emergency room. In any case, Marshall's mother had perked up noticeably at the notion of sewing a costume for a girl after having raised all boys, and over the course of the next few days, Brandi's dream found fruition.

The costume featured a white cat hood with, at Brandi's request, a big pink bow on it; there were gloves with paw pads sewn on, and the body of the outfit was comprised of a dainty white button-down shirt with lace trim and a knee-length, frilly, ruffled skirt. Marshall privately thought that his mother might have gone overboard with all the ruffled layers, but the overall effect was adorable. His mom had even gone out and purchased pink and white striped tights to match the bow, and a pair of white Mary Janes in Brandi's size.

Brandi was in heaven; Mary told Marshall as she stared at the costume in awe that Brandi had never gotten to own anything so nice. It had been the highlight of the carnival, too, for Brandi had entered the costume competition and won in a landslide, earning her a photograph that would be printed in her sixth-grade yearbook. Mary had started setting aside money immediately thereafter to make sure her sister would be able to buy a copy of the book when it came out.

Ongoing, too, were Marshall and Mary's study sessions; the park served well, if it was warm enough, though with the weather becoming colder they had recently taken to more frequent trips to the indoor mall, where they would settle into a back corner of the food court and read to each other. Mary, it turned out, was beginning to take a liking to that activity as well, though she still felt the need to loudly proclaim how stupid she thought Shakespearean English was, how stupid she thought the characters and their actions were, and so on. He had learned it was best to simply let her have her say and move on; her outbursts, while not exceptionally constructive, were something he had come to recognize as indicating she was engaged with the material at hand.

Marshall reached for Mary's hand, catching it and holding it in his as they walked. She acted like she was ignoring him, but she didn't pull away; more and more, she was allowing these little gestures of affection on his part, and he considered that progress. Furthermore, in light of the fact that she now spent so much of her spare time with him and the rest with her sister, and owing somewhat to the fact that her life had been going unusually smoothly lately, she had given up smoking entirely. Her excuse was that she'd rather put money away than waste it on cigarettes anyway, but whatever the reason she decided to claim, Marshall was relieved. Aside from the health concern, on the few occasions she had smoked around him, he'd received a watchful glare from his mother when she'd caught the lingering odor of smoke on his clothes.

_This, _he thought to himself happily, _is definitely going somewhere.

* * *

_

English class started out pleasantly enough, for once; Mr. Brunswick had encountered an improperly cooked turkey over the Thanksgiving holiday, and has succumbed to a rather virulent form of food poisoning which evidently still had him out of commission. The substitute teacher was still in a festive mood, and declared a period of free study. The class as a whole largely ignored the study part of the announcement. Marshall, doing well enough in all of his classes, was content with studying Mary instead.

"So what are you going to do during the winter break?" Mary asked, already looking forward to having a few weeks off even though she knew Jinx would be more of a handful than usual during the holidays.

"I meant to talk to you about that," Marshall replied. "I'm actually not going to be around that much. My parents and I are going to my oldest brother's place down in Virginia for Christmas, and before and after that, I'm going with my mom to visit some of the colleges where I've applied, so I won't be in town much… or at all, really."

"Oh," Mary replied, her face falling almost imperceptibly… almost.

"Are you going to be okay while I'm gone?" he asked, slightly concerned.

"Pfff," Mary scoffed. "Of course I'll be okay. Why wouldn't I be?" She tried to play it off like she meant it, but Marshall thought she didn't sound all that certain.

"I could ask my mom and see if you can come with us on some of them," he ventured.

"Yeah, right, because my family can totally take care of themselves," she bit out sarcastically. "I'd probably come back to find Jinx in prison and the house burned down, and I don't even want to think about what could happen to Brandi without me here to watch her. Besides, your mom doesn't like me, remember?"

"She doesn't dislike you. She just doesn't know you. And you really shouldn't choose a college without visiting first," he countered. "This could be a big opportunity for you."

"Let's get something straight," Mary snapped. "First, I only filled out those applications to spite Brunswick, and second, I only mailed them to make you stop bugging me about it. But Marshall, you and I both know none of those colleges will accept me, and I'm not going to pretend it's any different than that."

"Neither of us knows that because it isn't an absolute," he replied, his eyebrows knitted in consternation. "Why can't you open yourself up to the possibility?"

"What possibility?" she sighed, exasperated.

"The possibility of something greater!" he growled, trying to keep his voice low. "The possibility that your life can one day become more than it is right now."

"Yeah, because that's ever going to happen," she snarled back. "Listen, Marshall. I am not going to play into this… this _fantasy _you have of what my life can be. I'm not going to invest myself in something that's just going to fall apart or blow up in my face and leave me feeling like an idiot, like the butt of some cosmic joke for only about the _millionth _time in my life!"

Mary launched out of her seat and barreled out the door before the started substitute could say a word. She hadn't even taken her bag; it laid on the floor, kicked over in her rush to leave, the contents spilling everywhere. The teacher stared at him with wide eyes, silently demanding an explanation.

"There was a bad burrito at lunch," he offered a lie, hoping the sub would buy into it. "She left her things. Can I go find her and give them back?"

The teacher thought for a moment and then shrugged. Marshall scooped up Mary's things and stuffed them into her backpack before grabbing his own and heading out the door himself.

* * *

He headed for the bathroom. She had to know he'd come looking for her; if she was there, she wanted him to find her, and if she wasn't… Pausing just outside, he heard a sound, a low, muffled sobbing. He entered slowly, not catching sight of her at first, but then he spotted her shoes under one of the stall doors. Setting their bags down, he carefully pushed the door open.

Mary looked up in surprise from where she sat on the seat, the broken toilet useless for anything other than sitting. Her eyes were already puffy and her shoulders trembled from the held-in sobs she'd abruptly cut off when she'd become aware of his presence.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she muttered as she glared at him, bitterness evident in both her voice and her eyes.

"I could ask you the same, if you really didn't want to see me," he replied evenly. He was careful not to sound angry with her, because she was on the defensive and in truth he wasn't angry so much as sad that life had left her defeated before she could even try.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You had to know I'd come looking for you," he said softly.

Mary heard in his voice how much she cared, and that just made it worse. She didn't feel like she deserved it, and shining a light on her perceived inadequacies made her feel exposed; the monster, locked in a cage and put on display for everyone to see, no privacy, no dignity, no self-worth.

"Why?" she shouted, standing and advancing on him. "Why do you have to be like that?"

"Because I care about what happens to you, about how you feel," he replied honestly.

"Nobody asked you to care!" she cried, shoving him.

He stumbled back a few steps and she kept advancing until his back was against the wall. She pounded her fists against his chest, hard enough to make him grunt softly, but not so hard that she might actually hurt him. Nonetheless, when she tried again, he caught her hands gently in his own. She tried to pull away and he tightened his grip slightly.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, "but I can't stop now."

His whispered kindness broke her; the tears came, and she couldn't stop them. She shook with great wracking sobs. Marshall drew her to him and encircled her in his arms, and when her knees trembled and refused to hold her up, he slid down the wall with her until they both sat on the floor. She remained settled between his knees, still wrapped in his arms, and he held her while she cried. The bell for the next class came and went, and still he stayed, knowing he wouldn't make it to the class even to be counted tardy and that he was now officially truant for the first time in his life.

It was a long time before she quieted, and when she finally did, she said nothing, but didn't pull away. Curled in a ball, she listened to the sound of Marshall's heart beating as his chest rose and fell against her with each breath. It was, beyond all doubt, the most intimate she'd ever been with another person; no one had seen her cry, wholeheartedly and without reservation, in an entire lifetime of hidden tears. She didn't know what to do, or say, and so she remained silent and still.

Marshall thought over everything that had happened. She had seemed happy enough that morning, and then… he thought he finally understood. She had mailed her applications, but she couldn't allow herself to hope it would come to anything, because she couldn't handle a blow so devastating in the event that it really came to nothing, or worse, to something she would be denied. That she saw that rejection as inevitable only strengthened her resolve. There was a schism in their perspectives; she was so cautious, and he had gotten so caught up in his own hopes for her that he had finally pushed her more than she could handle, the very thing he'd taken such care not to do for so long. And then, perhaps, by being so enthusiastic, he had inadvertently suggested that their friendship somehow depended on her success, which of course it did not... he hoped that he would be able to prove that to her, was in fact trying to prove it even now.

For a long time, he didn't move either. Then, slowly, he slid one hand up her back and into her hair, cradling her head against his chest. Mary closed her eyes and let out a shuddering breath; the gesture was an absolution, an acknowledgment that she wasn't a monster at all but a human being, deserving of love rather than abandonment or condemnation. She didn't know what to do with that, but she knew, reassured by his gentle hands and his heartbeat in her ear, that at that moment nothing was expected of her. She needed only to be.

Eventually, the last bell of the day rang, and by silent agreement, each picked themselves up from the floor. They couldn't stay; the chances of someone wandering in now that everyone was out of class were too high, and they had to go get Brandi in any case.

As they left the school, cautiously avoiding being seen by any teachers who might have missed them in their respective skipped classes, a passing car rumbled up the street, catching Mary's attention. She stared at the vehicle, a battered Camaro with mismatched parts, rust, several dents and a smashed headlight, her expression something Marshall couldn't quite define. Whatever she was thinking or feeling, she appeared conflicted, but before he could ask she seemed to push what she was feeling away.

He decided it was better not to ask after the emotional upheaval of the day, but something in her eyes as she'd watched the car drive away left him feeling uneasy.

* * *

**A/N: Well, we knew Mary had to lose it sooner or later. Also, does that Camaro make _you _feel uneasy, Dear Readers? It's certainly giving _me _the creeps... **

**Anyway, I'd like to give a big thank you to all of my readers and special thanks to those who have continued to review this story. I hope you're all hanging in there! Please let me know what you think of this installment, and I will see you next time, my darlings! =D**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own In Plain Sight, but I think Jinx might have raised me. =P**

**Author's Note: My deepest apologies for the amount of time since the last update! I got bogged down by two days of drama with my mother, followed by veterinary issues. Anyway, the update is here at last! Hope you're all still interested! =)

* * *

**

**Fish Out of Water**

**Chapter 8**

Marshall watched the ground recede until the jet breached the cloud layer and climbed into the stratosphere. He and his mother were on their way to his brother's home for the holidays, to be joined there by his father, after a week spent touring the handful of colleges he'd applied to that were relatively nearby, including the illustrious Cornell. He had regrets about the trip already; he had already been fairly certain he didn't want to go there, and while for him the visit had only served to solidify his conviction, his mother seemed to have gotten her heart set on it.

"Your brother's going to be so impressed," she told him for what had to be the tenth time since they'd arrived at the airport that morning. "The Ivy League! Everyone will be so proud."

"Mom," he sighed, "we don't even know if I'll get accepted. I'd rather you didn't say anything about it just yet."

"Well, I know you'll get accepted," she replied. "Anyway, I've already told them you applied. Everyone thinks you'll make it. They'd be crazy not to accept you."

"I don't even really want to go there," he mumbled.

"Nonsense!" she exclaimed. "You applied, didn't you? Now don't be so worried. You'll be accepted and it will be wonderful."

He turned back to the window and looked into the sky, stretching out in all directions over the clouds below. He felt conflicted; he'd liked Cornell, but it wasn't about that. He didn't want to go there because it wasn't one of the schools where Mary had applied. He sighed again. If he believed her version of reality, even that ultimately wouldn't matter.

"Just think, you'll be close enough to come home and visit. And you'll be close enough that we'll be able to come visit you!" his mother continued.

"What do you think about community college?" he asked suddenly.

"Well, they're just fine, Marshall," she replied, sounding surprised, "for regular people. But you've got so much potential! Your father and I saw that early on, and that's why we saved so much for your college fund. We wanted you to be able to go anywhere."

"Anywhere that suits my potential?" he asked dryly.

"You have a shot at the best schools, Marshall!" she emphasized. "Frankly I'm a bit surprised that you applied to so many state universities. You can certainly do better. Like Cornell!"

"What about UNM?" he asked, concerned that in her zeal she might cancel the final leg of their trip.

"Oh, I don't know why you'd still want to go there," she waved her hand dismissively, "but we can visit anyway. I'm looking forward to seeing New Mexico."

The rest of the flight to Virginia was relatively uneventful, but it was all Marshall could do not to run screaming from the plane when it pulled up to the gate. His mother was suffocating in her zeal for his academic pursuits. Once they arrived at his brother's house, he was able to slip away. He snuck out the back door and sat on the porch.

The past week had been miserable, if he was to be completely honest about it. He missed Mary badly, and moreover he was worried about her. In the week before school let out, nothing had been out of the ordinary, but he had a bad feeling about leaving her alone. It was entirely possible that something could happen while he was gone, that she would need him, and he wouldn't be there. He still had just over a week to go before school would be back in and he would be home.

* * *

Christmas morning dawned cold in the Shannon household. Mary looked but Jinx was nowhere to be found. She had gone to a Christmas Eve party the night before and was presumably in the process of finding a new 'uncle' for Mary and her sister. Mary huffed as she turned the heat up in preparation for waking Brandi; it was a pity Jinx hadn't met someone sooner. If she had, they might have been able to afford to do more for the holiday.

As it was, Mary had to keep the heat turned low in order to minimize the bill. She had, however, managed to find something used to give to Brandi, a pair of her old ice skates that Brandi could fit with a few extra pair of socks, and she'd put aside what little spare cash she had to take Brandi to the skating rink. It wasn't that expensive, so she would probably be able to take Brandi often enough to make the skates worthwhile... and that didn't count the fact that Marshall would undoubtedly take them from time to time as well, though Mary certainly didn't want to take advantage of his friendship.

"Hey Squish," she called into the bedroom, "wake up. It's Christmas."

Brandi stirred, then sat up, looking at her sister hopefully. An announcement of Christmas usually meant there were presents to be had. On the occasions when nothing could be produced, the sisters usually spent the day together, pretending it was just a regular day like any other. Mary jerked her head toward the foot of Brandi's bed, where she'd set the skates wrapped in newspaper. She'd used a car ad; it was fairly brightly colored and looked at least somewhat festive. Brandi hopped out of bed and tore the paper off, pulling the skates out and holding them up happily.

"They're pink!" she squealed happily.

Mary smiled. She'd liked the skates when Jinx had bought them for her years ago, but the bubble-gum pink color had not thrilled her; it had been just another attempt on her mother's part to force her to be more feminine. In classic Jinx style, the skates had been a gift and a criticism all rolled into one. Now, though, she was glad, because Brandi clearly loved them.

Brandi set the skates down for a moment and dug around under her bed, pulling out the sticker-covered shoebox in which Mary knew she kept trinkets she deemed to be of value: unstuck stickers, hair ties, a small assortment of fast-food toys, and other odds and ends that she either found or brought home from school. She pulled out a small package wrapped in construction paper and handed it to Mary.

The older girl turned it over in her hands, her eyes widened in surprise. She hadn't expected anything in return; it was not so much that Brandi was thoughtless as it was the fact that Brandi had learned not to depend upon Christmas actually happening, and would generally scrabble around for a random item to give to Mary that would eventually become hers again. This small package spoke of some sort of advance planning, and Mary was touched.

"Open it!" Brandi practically shouted, bouncing excitedly.

Mary slipped her thumb under the tape holding the paper in place. Pulling the paper away, she uncovered a clay ornament, shaped into a heart and painted red. In the middle, in purple paint, was written 'Mary'.

"Oh, Squish, thank you," Mary breathed as she looked at the treasure.

"Turn it over!" her sister chirped.

Mary did so, and found 'Love, Brandi' written on the back. She traced a finger around the edge, smiling.

"Do you like it, Mary?" Brandi looked at her with wide, hopeful eyes.

"Yeah, Squish, I love it," she replied.

She moved to the head of her bed and took down the small picture that hung there, some girly image that Jinx had hung up who knew when and which Mary had never really liked, and hung the heart by its purple ribbon there instead.

"Miss K helped me make it," Brandi added, beaming happily at the sight of her gift hanging in its place of honor. "She says clay has to be baked or something, so she did that."

"Okay, Squish," Mary said, turning to face her sister, "let's have breakfast and then we can go skating."

Brandi gathered her skates, along with a sheet of stickers from her shoebox with which she clearly intended to decorate her skates; the stickers were of that same cartoon cat mascot that Brandi loved. Mary recalled that Marshall had bought them for her on a trip to the mall, and Brandi had been saving them for something special ever since.

While Mary was rummaging through the cereal boxes in the cupboard, the phone rang. Brandi dashed from the table and grabbed it before Mary could react.

"Shannon residence," she answered importantly. Mary's eyebrows hitched up a notch; that, too, Brandi must have gotten from Marshall, because she certainly hadn't picked up the polite mannerism at home.

"Oh my gosh!" Brandi cried shrilly.

"What is it, Squish?" Mary asked in concern, disturbing possibilities running through her mind. "It is Mom? Is she in the hospital? She's not in jail again, is she?"

"It's Marshall!" Brandi squealed, turning happily to her sister.

"Give me that!" Mary cried in a near shout as she tried to snatch the phone from her sister. Brandi danced nimbly away.

"No, I want to talk to Marshall!" she chided her older sibling. "Wait your turn!"

Mary threw up her hands and rolled her eyes with a growl.

"Uh-huh!" Brandi turned her attention back to the phone. "Yeah, Mary gave me skates! We're going skating today!" She paused while Marshall apparently replied, then continued. "Are you gonna bring me anything when you come back?"

"Brandi!" Mary bellowed in distress. "That is so rude!"

"Omigod, yay!" Brandi shrieked happily, ignoring her sister. Obviously, the answer had been yes.

"Oh my God, he's totally spoiling her," Mary muttered to herself.

"Okay, here's Mary," Brandi said at last. "Merry Christmas, Marshall!"

Mary practically tore the receiver from her sister's grip.

"Marshall, I'm really, really sorry," she blurted, rushing to apologize for her sister. "She's totally supposed to know better than to hit you up for stuff like that."

Marshall's soft laugh came over the line. "It's fine. I was planning to bring something anyway."

"You don't have to," Mary protested.

"I know, but I want to," he assured her. "So you're going skating?"

"Yeah. I found a pair of my old ice skates when I was going through some boxes in the garage. I didn't get that much use out of them and they should just about fit her, so…" Mary trailed off, suddenly feeling inexplicably awkward and not knowing what to say.

"Everything okay with Jinx?" he asked. "I heard you when Brandi first picked up the phone. Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, I just don't know where she is," Mary replied, trying to keep her tone neutral even though she was mad at herself for having let Marshall hear her speculations. "She went out to a party last night, probably went home with some guy. If she doesn't show up by tonight, I'll start making calls."

"So, do you want me to bring something back for you, too?" Marshall asked casually.

Mary felt herself blush furiously. "Um, that's okay. You don't have to. It's nice enough that you're going to bring something for Brandi."

"And if I want to bring you something, too… would that be okay?"

"Whatever… do what you want…" she mumbled, her blush deepening.

"Alright, then," he said neutrally. "We'll see what happens."

"Oh my God!" Mary's eyes widened suddenly. "I just realized this is a long distance call! Is this even okay?"

"It's fine," Marshall replied, laughing softly again. "It's my brother's house and he said it wasn't a problem."

"Still, you probably shouldn't stay on the line," she said, cringing at the thought of what a long distance call would cost. Thankfully it wouldn't be on Jinx's phone bill, but still, the thought was unsettling.

"Yeah, you're probably right," he acknowledged reluctantly. "I'll call you when I'm back, okay?"

"Yeah, that sounds good," Mary replied, a smile crossing her face at the thought. She found she couldn't wait for his return; she missed him considerably more than she had thought she would.

"Have fun skating with Brandi," he added.

"I will," she answered softly. The line clicked off.

"Okay, Squish… which cereal do you want for breakfast?" she asked, feeling flustered as she turned to her sister. Brandi looked at her, a mischievous smile on her face.

"Hey, Mary?" Brandi spoke, ignoring her sister's question. "Do you like Marshall?"

"Well, he's my friend, so yeah, I guess I do," Mary replied, hoping Brandi wouldn't press the issue.

"No, I mean, do you _like _him? Like _that_?"

"Squish, do you want to go skating or not?" Mary cried, sounding desperate and plaintive where she'd meant to sound menacing. Still, her reaction had the desired effect; Brandi poured her cereal quietly and ate, but not without casting Mary an occasional knowing smirk.

* * *

The skating rink had been fun for both sisters. Brandi loved being on the ice, and for Mary, it was a chance to re-experience childhood through Brandi's point of view; while Mary had had no one to look out for her when she was growing up, Brandi had Mary, and that made Brandi's formative years more tolerable than Mary's had been. As the afternoon was slipping away and the sisters were both tired, Mary decided it was time to go home.

As she helped Brandi untie her skates, Mary felt a prickling sensation at the back of her neck; it was off-putting and made her feel skittish and uneasy, like prey suddenly aware that it was being stalked by a predator. She looked around warily, and that was when she caught sight of him. Standing at the far side of the rink, tattooed and dressed like a wannabe biker, was Mark, sucking on a cigarette and blowing the smoke out slowly through his nose.

She'd known he was back in town; she'd recognized that piece of shit Camaro he drove when she and Marshall had seen it a few weeks before. Mark was ridiculously proud of that car. He referred to it as a classic, and it might have been true had it been in any kind of decent condition beyond merely being drivable, but in truth it was barely even that. It was a noisy, smoggy, rusted-out piece of crap, and as Mary looked at Mark across the rink, she realized Mark and his car were well-suited to each other.

"Come on, Brandi," she murmured softly, not wanting to alarm her sister. "Let's go out the back way."

Brandi, happily worn out from the day's adventure, happily complied, and the siblings slipped away, safely avoiding Mark.

They arrived home shortly before the early sunset that was typical of the time of year, and just as they came up the walk, Jinx's gleaming red land-yacht of a car pulled into the driveway. Their mother stepped out, wearing a luxurious satin dress in emerald green, a beaded gold wrap around her shoulders… both of which Mary was certain hadn't already been part of her wardrobe.

"Mommy! You look so pretty!" Brandi squealed, running up to hug their mother, yet being careful of the obviously new clothes.

Mary grimaced. Brandi was conditioned to think that new clothes on Jinx meant a new man had bought them for her, but Mary knew it was equally likely that Jinx had put them even further into the poorhouse with an impromptu shopping spree; it had happened numerous times before, which was why Mary hoarded money. It had always been easier to let Brandi believe the clothes had been bought by a man than to make her share Mary's fear that they were one missed rent payment from another spontaneous and indefinitely long camping trip.

"Mom, where did the clothes come from?" she asked, dreading the answer.

"I bought them last night," she replied, turning to Brandi. "You can't catch fish without a shiny lure, can you, sweet pea?" Brandi giggled in response; Mary tensed, wondering just how screwed they were.

"You bought them?" she repeated. "With what for money?"

"I found some," she said evasively.

"Oh God, Mom…" Mary breathed, her stomach clenching. "You found it where?"

"In your closet," Jinx confessed, her tone haughty. "I don't know what you thought you were doing with a wad of money like that, young lady, but I'm sure this is better than whatever you had planned for it."

Mary fumbled her keys into the door lock and pushed into the house; dashing to the bedroom, she checked the toe of the left shoe from the pair furthest back. Gone. Their fallback rent money was gone, as was the money she'd saved for Brandi's yearbook. She came back out to find her mother and sister in the living room.

"Jinx," she ground out, her tone low and dangerous, "how do you expect us to pay rent now?"

"Don't call me by my first name, missy," Jinx hissed self-righteously. "Anyway, I've got it all taken care of."

"Oh really? How's that?" Mary's voice dripped anger and sarcasm.

"I met a man last night," her mother sighed dreamily. "And don't you worry, he's going to take us all away from here, just as soon as…"

"As soon as what?" Mary prompted.

"As soon as he leaves his wife," Jinx replied smugly. "He's going to call as soon as he can find a minute alone."

"Oh, he's going to call, is that what he told you?" she shouted at her mother. "He's going to leave his wife for you? How many times have you heard that before?"

"He'll call!" Jinx snapped, pointing an angry finger at her daughter. "Don't try to make this about me. You're the little bitch who was hiding money."

"Because of you! Because you always do… _this_!" Mary cried, gesturing at Jinx's outfit.

"Oh, don't act like I'm that stupid," Jinx replied caustically. "I left the tags on. These can be taken back."

"Um, Mom…" Brandi murmured softly, pointing to the side of the dress. "You have a stain."

Jinx craned her neck to see where her younger daughter was pointing. She turned in a half circle, pursuing the stain, until she caught sight of it.

"Oh… _shit_!" she swore. "It must have been when he spilled the champagne…"

"This is great. Just fabulous," Mary said flatly. She felt like she was going to cry, and did her best to look like she wasn't feeling anything.

"Oh, Mary," her mother whined, her tone suddenly contrite. "What are we going to do?"

"You're asking me?" she asked incredulously.

"Well, I've already done _my _part. I spent all last night…"

"Yeah, I _know _what you spent all last night doing," Mary snapped. "Why is it my job to fix this?"

"Because, Mary," Jinx wailed pleadingly, "you're the only one who _can_!"

Mary just stared at her mother for a moment, unable to believe the woman's unmitigated gall, before she turned around and shut herself in the bedroom. Her hands started to shake, and soon she was shaking all over. She sat on the bed, trembling, uncertain even as tears slid silently down her face whether she wanted to rage or cry. From the living room, she heard her mother's voice addressing her sister.

"Don't you worry. Mary will fix everything," Jinx's voice lilted, no trace of their altercation remaining. "Now, how would you like for me to help you put on some make-up and get dressed up all pretty like me? Just for fun! You'll look just like a princess!"

Mary shoved her face into her pillow and cried until her body ached, finally falling asleep on a pillowcase soaked with her own tears.

* * *

**A/N: Oh, poor Mary! Don't worry, readers, Marshall will be back soon. We were due to spend some time with Mary, that's all. Please let me know what you think, and hang in there for the next update! =)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: Don't own, so don't sue!**

**Author's Note: I'm settled back home, so you can all look forward to a more regular update schedule, probably alternating with my other story, West of the Pecos (hint hint, read that too!) Hooray! I was hoping to find some inspiration while I was staying in the home where I lived as a teenager, but I ended up realizing why I spent my teen years feeling so uninspired. Oh, well. I hope you enjoy this update! =)**

* * *

**Fish Out of Water**

**Chapter 9**

The crisp chill of the winter wind bit Marshall's face, causing him to snug his scarf more tightly about his chin. He stood at the corner, waiting for the sisters. He'd gotten back into town the evening before, only just in time to go back to school; a series of freak snowstorms had blanketed much of the northeast and had nearly gotten his flight cancelled. As it was, he'd been delayed. He tried calling Mary once he was back but he'd missed her, and he hadn't wanted to call again because he didn't want to cause trouble for Mary by calling too late and incurring the wrath of her doubtlessly inebriated mother.

Another flurry had hit in the night. Roads were clear so unfortunately the schools didn't call a snow day, but sidewalks and driveways were banked with snow both new and remaining from the previous week, only a handful shoveled so far. He squinted at the dazzling light reflecting from the snow; he was himself from a considerably warmer climate, and the frosty surroundings intrigued him even as he found the cold off-putting. He hugged his heavy pea-coat more tightly to himself as he waited.

He hadn't been standing there long when a familiar pair appeared, trudging up the sidewalk through the snow. He frowned; Mary walked in such a way that she seemed hunched and sore, almost downtrodden, and even Brandi was lacking the usual spring in her step. As they drew closer, he saw that while Brandi was outfitted in a reasonably warm-looking white coat with faux-fur trim, Mary had made do with her baggy sweater layered under that oversized jacket she usually wore, both of which were intended for considerably warmer weather. She shivered as she approached him, her gloveless hands tucked under her arms.

Brandi slipped her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly, not uttering a word. His worried eyes found Mary's, and he knew that whatever had happened over the past week, it had been stressful for them. He turned to Brandi as she pulled back from him. Taking off his gloves, he stuffed them in his coat pocket before reaching into the pocket on the other side. He pulled out two little cardboard boxes, one tied with green ribbon, the other with red. He handed the first to Brandi, her eyes widening as he put the box in her mittened hands.

Tugging one mitten free with her teeth and letting it dangle on its string, Brandi tugged the ribbon from the box and removed the lid. Inside was a silver pendant in the shape of a deer. The body of the animal was formed around a piece of turquoise. Marshall had spotted it in a shop in New Mexico where his mother had stopped to buy souvenirs for various relatives, and had thought immediately of Brandi and his promise to bring her something back with him.

"Oh my gosh!" the girl squealed, bouncing in place as some of her usual enthusiasm showed through. "Thank you, Marshall!"

He helped her fasten the chain around her neck as Mary watched, a ghost of a smile playing across her lips. She felt better seeing Brandi happy again. The week after Christmas had been trying for both of them, struggling to get by in the aftermath of Jinx's spending spree, and the loss of the yearbook money in particular had been a crushing blow for the girl. Just like Mary once had, though, Brandi was beginning to realize that some dreams had to be let go, and Mary couldn't help but be saddened by that even if it was necessary. She was pulled from her reverie when the second box, tied in red ribbon, appeared in her field of view, sitting in front of her in Marshall's outstretched hand.

She slowly untucked her hands from under her arms, and she didn't miss Marshall's wince as he saw them. Her hands were chapped and split in places, raw almost everywhere and scabbed in a few places that still seeped if she flexed her hands wrong. She took the box from him clumsily, fumbling the ribbon off and lifting the lid with considerably more difficulty than her sister. On the small bit of cotton batting inside, there lay a necklace of similar manufacture to Brandi's, but in the shape of a flower rather than a deer. The five silver petals were hammered flat, arranged around a small piece of turquoise set in the middle. It was beautiful, Mary thought, even as she realized her weather-bitten hands wouldn't be able to manipulate the clasp as Brandi had.

Marshall realized the same thing, watching her stiff fingers open the box, and he wordlessly reached out and picked the necklace up. He carefully drew all her long, blonde hair over her left shoulder, then slipped the chain around her neck. He leaned forward, comfortingly close as he looked over her shoulder to where his hands met at the back of her neck, delicately working the clasp into place. Stepping back, he rearranged her hair, smoothing it into place as he glanced to where the pendant rested just below the hollow of her throat. Mary looked down, brushing the necklace with the tips of her chapped, nail-bitten fingers.

"It's beautiful, Marshall," she murmured, her voice catching in her throat. Preoccupied by recent events, she had completely forgotten his promise to bring her a gift, and she had gotten him nothing… though of course, she could not have afforded to get him something even if she had remembered.

"What happened to your hands, Mare?" he asked softly as he caught her wrist gently and turned her hand over, examining it.

"It's nothing," she replied evasively, her eyes not quite meeting his as he looked at her. "I was shoveling snow and my gloves wore out, that's all."

Marshall stared at her for a moment, head cocked slightly to one side, his expression inscrutable as he considered her words. It would have taken a lot of work to damage her hands that, more than just shoveling snow at her home, but he could see that she was struggling to maintain her composure and he decided to leave it alone for the moment.

He slipped his free hand into his pocket and pulled his gloves out, ignoring her murmured protests as he slid them over her hands. He felt her flinch slightly; there was no way to avoid causing her some pain, considering how roughed up her hands were, but they wouldn't begin to heal if they were left exposed to the elements, and he finished his task as gently as was possible.

Mary forced back the tears that welled in her eyes at her friend's actions. Some of it was the fact that her hands genuinely hurt, but mostly she was moved by his tenderness. She had no idea what to do with it; being cared for was so incredibly foreign to her, and she found herself unable to respond. Once the gloves were on and her hands warmed, the wounds actually began to hurt more, but the gloves, leather with fleece lining, were soft and kept the cold and the worry of frostbite at bay. They even fit reasonably well, owing to the fact that her hands were fairly large to begin with and were rather swollen from the abuse she'd put them through in the past week.

"You didn't have to," she whispered, her eyes lowered as she burned with shame over her situation and self-reproach at the fact that, deep down, it felt good to allow him to take care of her.

"I know," he said, smoothing her hair once more with his hand as he dropped a light, casual kiss at her hairline. "I want to help."

She dropped her head slightly, embarrassed by the display of affection and overwhelmed by the conflicting emotions that roiled within her. _Remember, Mary, this can't go anywhere, _she reminded herself silently._ After graduation, he's off to college and everything goes back to how it was before._

She felt her heart clench at the thought, but she knew it was true and that there was no choice but to accept it. Anything she could have with Marshall wouldn't last. She let the pain caused by the realization steel her against her inner turmoil and all the unbidden feelings her friend roused in her. She took a step back, a gesture Marshall recognized as a subconscious attempt to put distance between herself and whatever it was she was feeling.

"I'm not going to class today," she said, forcing the words out as much as she hated having to do so. "I have things to take care of and I already called myself in, pretending to be Jinx. Can you walk Brandi to school for me?"

Marshall nodded, willing to help in whatever manner he could that she would let him, though he wished she was more willing to tell him what was going on. He watched Mary turn and head back the way she came, her sister left safely in his charge. He noticed that her now-gloved hand kept drifting up to play with the necklace he'd given her. He mulled over the encounter, wondering what it was she might be doing, what had caused her to injure her hands.

"Hey, Brandi," he addressed the girl as they walked in the direction of her school, "what happened while I was gone?"

She eyed him guiltily. "Mary said not to bother you about it."

"It's okay, Brandi. It won't be a bother," he prodded.

"Well, if you're really sure," she said dubiously.

"I am really sure," Marshall reassured her.

"Okay, then," she replied, looking relieved to be able to talk. "Well, everything was pretty normal at first. Then on Christmas, you called and we went skating, and it was like the best day."

Marshall nodded, following along. He had known that much; Mary hadn't seemed any more stressed than usual when they'd talked on the phone. "Then what?"

"Then… when we got home from the skating rink, Mom came home."

His heart sank; that woman would have to be the turning point in all this. "Drunk?"

"I don't think so," she answered matter-of-factly. "I think she was before, but not by the time she got back. Anyway, she was all dressed up, in this big fancy gown and this sparkly scarfy-thing. I thought she looked so pretty, but Mary wanted to know where it came from." Brandi glanced down at the ground, looking ashamed.

"What's wrong?" Marshall asked gently.

"I knew better, too. Mary doesn't think I do, but I do, you know? The clothes were new, and expensive, and I knew she spent money we couldn't afford, but I was just so happy that she wasn't drunk."

Marshall sighed and put a steadying hand on Brandi's shoulder. He couldn't blame the girl; he couldn't begin to imagine what it would be like to be in her position, and he didn't want to judge her for taking what little good came her way.

"And that's when Mom told Mary she'd taken the money from where Mary hides cash in case we can't pay rent. Mom took it and spent it all. My yearbook money, too," Brandi added sadly. "She pretended like it was just extra that Mary shouldn't have had anyway. Then she couldn't even return the dress because she spilled on it."

"What about Mary's hands?" he questioned. "How did that happen?"

"That's the worst part," she moaned. "We didn't have money to pay rent. Mom thought the guy she was out with on Christmas would pay it for her so she didn't save any, and then he didn't call. Mary said we couldn't live in a tent with it being so cold, and then the snow came. Mary spent all week shoveling people's sidewalks and driveways. She said the snow was a godsend, but her gloves split and she had to throw them away, and her hands got all messed up."

"And she's doing that again today?" he asked, feeling the knot in his gut tighten.

"She said that if she could get one more day in, we'd be able to pay the electric bill too, and then we won't have to worry about heat. She keeps saying she wishes we could pay for my yearbook too, but the deadline is in a couple weeks and she says bills come first," Brandi concluded plaintively. "But I don't even care, I just don't want her to have to keep doing this. I can tell by how she moves that she hurts all over."

Marshall nodded slowly, chewing the inside of his lip and trying to appear calm. He'd promised Mary's sister that whatever she had to say wouldn't be a bother, but he was deeply distressed by what he had been told. Jinx was no kind of a mother, and were it not for the fact that Mary so desperately didn't want to lose Brandi, he would have given serious thought to reporting her neglect. What would happen to Mary then, though, he didn't know, and he didn't want to be separated from her either.

When they arrived at Brandi's school, Marshall was still contemplating the situation. He sent the beleaguered girl off to her classroom after assuring her that everything would turn out alright, though he had no idea how. Brandi, knowing that her sister was doing her best and believing that would be enough, went back to school after the winter break seeming a fair bit happier. Marshall watched her go, overcome by a sense of helplessness at their situation.

Marshall turned and walked into the office. Brandi would get her yearbook, Jinx be damned; he could do that for the sisters, at least.

* * *

Mary paused in the middle of shoveling her last driveway of the day and reached for her necklace for what she guessed was the hundredth time since Marshall had given it to her. She could barely feel it through his gloves, but knowing it was there soothed her. She smiled and picked up the snow shovel again; her hands ached, but they were warm, and they would heal.

She finished up, and after collecting her pay from the home's owner, she picked up her shovel and headed for home. It was long after Brandi would have gotten out of school, but Mary knew Marshall would take care of her sister. He was good like that, good for them, and Mary began to wonder if she could find a way to make something work with him. She shook her head; it was better to avoid entertaining false hopes. Still, he was part of their lives, almost inextricably, and she didn't want that to end.

After arriving home to stow her shovel that was once her father's, and finding Jinx gone for the evening, she decided to walk over to Marshall's house. She could have just called, and he'd have brought Brandi to her, but she felt that he might like it if she came to him for once. It might mean meeting his parents, but she could live with that. Soon, she found herself on his porch, and taking a deep breath, she gingerly lifted the doorknocker.

Marshall opened the door, a surprised smile spreading over his face when he saw her there.

"Hey, Mary, come on in," he invited warmly.

Mary made her way into the house that seemed so huge to her; she had never been inside before, though she'd seen it on a few occasions when Marshall had stopped to pick something up. It seemed even bigger on the inside, if possible. Closing the door behind her, Marshall gestured toward the kitchen, from which emanated a delicious baking smell.

"Mary!" Brandi squealed. "We're making cinnamon rolls!"

"Yum," Mary replied with an enthusiastic smile, then turned to Marshall as her brow furrowed. "Since when can she cook?"

"I've been teaching her a thing or two," he said with a laugh.

"Well, this is quite a surprise," she turned back to her sister with an approving nod.

"Hey, Brandi, can you keep an eye on the cinnamon rolls?" he asked. "Pull them out when they start to brown on the top…"

"Just like that pie we made before break, right?"

"Yeah, just like that, but these cook a lot faster. The timer's already set, but make sure they're done before you pull them."

Brandi rolled her eyes. "I can do this, Marshall, I promise."

He nodded, then took Mary's wrist in his hand and pulled her toward the bathroom. He retrieved a first aid kit from under the sink.

"I want to take a look at those hands, if you don't mind," he said in a tone which, while not harsh, allowed no wiggle room.

Mary shrugged, too tired to argue. He carefully peeled the gloves from her hands, flinching with her each time she felt pain. Once her hands were free, covered in cuts and burst blisters, he soaked a cotton ball in antiseptic and began dabbing. Once or twice Mary hissed in pain as he touched a particularly sore spot; the antiseptic stung, but afterward, Marshall bandaged her palms, and the pain eased a bit.

"Where're your parents?" Mary asked as he finished, realizing that someone should have enquired as to her presence by now.

"Mom's at a book club and Dad's off somewhere working," he answered.

She nodded. It was fine with her that they weren't there. She'd been prepared to meet them, but if it wasn't going to happen tonight, so much the better. It had been a long day.

"So, are you done shoveling walks?" he queried.

"Brandi told you what happened?" she asked in return, expecting the nod he gave her. "I paid the rent already, and I have a little more for bills at least, and Jinx is out tonight so maybe she'll come home with something. I'll make it work."

"Find a better hiding place yet?"

"Yeah, I did." She pulled a wad of bills from her pocket and put them in his hands.

Marshall raised an eyebrow. "You're leaving it with me?"

"Jinx can't get to it here. Nowhere in my house is safe," she said, shrugging.

Marshall got up, left the room, and returned without the money, presumably having hidden it. As he came back, Brandi bounded down the hall.

"Mary, Marshall! The cinnamon buns are ready!" she cried, grabbing Mary by the wrist, carefully avoiding her bandaged hand. She dragged her sister down the hall, Marshall following behind.

"You know what, Mary?" she continued excitedly, pulling Mary into the living room while Marshall went to the kitchen to serve. "They have cable here!"

The three spent the evening indulging in the luxury of cable television and cinnamon rolls. Mary fumbled with hers until Brandi pulled a piece off and stuffed it into Mary's mouth; laughing, Marshall followed suit, causing Mary to splutter laughter and obscenities around the mouthful of food. Brandi flopped on the floor in fits of giggles, and Marshall smiled as he watched the sisters enjoying themselves. His girls were happy again, and that made everything feel right for him. He wondered, briefly, when he'd begun to think of them as his, but he couldn't pin down a specific point in time. In retrospect, it seemed as if it had always been so, though he knew that was not actually the case. It didn't matter. That was how he felt now, and he found it was difficult to remember what it was like before he'd met them... almost as difficult as it was to picture his life without them in the future.

* * *

**A/N: There you have it, a fresh new update! Let me know what you think, and I hope you'll stick around for the next one! =)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I don't own In Plain Sight, I just torment the characters...**

**Author's Note: Who doesn't love getting sick over a holiday weekend? I'm feeling better now, but the past couple days have been very bleh. Hopefully, I've gotten my groove back enough to make this update worthwhile! =)**

* * *

**Fish Out of Water**

**Chapter 10**

Mary slipped her key into the lock and let herself in. It was dark; she'd spent the afternoon studying with Marshall at the mall food court. They'd finally had some time to pick up studying Romeo and Juliet again; they were done with their first read-through of the play itself and had moved on to thesis statements, a concept that interested Marshall far more than her, but she kept at it, determined to pull her own weight.

The most recent study session had been particularly productive, as Brandi had been invited to stay over at a friend's house and the two of them were alone. The next day was a staff development day at Brandi's school, so she was going to spend it there, granting Mary a reprieve from worrying about her sister while she was herself stuck in class.

As the door swung open, Mary was surprised to find her mother waiting for her, looking angry. She sucked on a cigarette and glared poisonously, the ashtray next to her considerably more full than it had been that morning.

"Mary, what is this?" Jinx snapped as her eldest daughter came in the door. She held a letter in her hand.

Mary's heart stopped; for a moment, just a moment, she was terrified that her mother had found the one thing Mary had always managed to keep secret. But even as the wave of anxiety hit, Mary realized the envelope wasn't right. The size was all wrong and it looked new, through ripped open. It was clearly not the goodbye letter her father had left, the one she'd kept a close secret from anyone else.

"I have no idea," Mary replied. "Why don't you tell me, since we both know you've obviously been sitting here all day stewing and waiting for the chance to do exactly that."

"It's a letter from a college in Colorado," Jinx bit out, her voice laden with venom. "You applied to college, Mary? Without my permission?"

"I'll be eighteen by the time I graduate. I'm not going to need your permission," she said evenly, trying not to engage her mother. When Jinx got like this, spoiling for a fight, it was always best to try not to give her what she was looking for. That didn't make it easy, though; Jinx could and would go for any sore spots that presented themselves.

"Not that _this _letter really matters," Jinx scoffed. "It's a _rejection _letter. But to think that you would even consider leaving Brandi and I, that you would abandon your mother and your little sister… Just how many applications did you send out?"

"A few," Mary said guardedly. In fact, she'd already received and discarded two rejection letters that Jinx obviously didn't know about. "It was just for a class at school."

"Well, I can't imagine what teacher would think college is appropriate for _you,_" Jinx rolled her eyes and laughed humorlessly. "From the look of this, it doesn't seem like any of them want you anyway. And how you thought you'd be able to afford it is beyond me."

Mary pressed her lips together tightly. A dozen cutting retorts came to mind, most of them remarks about how Mary's lack of financial security was demonstrably Jinx's fault, but she held them in. It hadn't taken much for her to realize that Jinx had not only been stewing in her feelings of betrayal as she waited, but drinking as well, and Mary wanted no part of what she knew Jinx could dish out.

"This is so typical, Mary. Applying to colleges like you think you're better than us. Well, you're not. You're no better, and this proves it," Jinx hissed, shaking the letter that she clenched in her vise-like grip. "Where did you get such a stupid idea, hmm? Was it from that boy, that… _Matthew _or whatever, the one Brandi's always talking about? Is he the one who convinced you that you were entitled to this?"

"I told you, it was for a class," Mary growled, her self-control starting to slip. "And his name isn't Matthew, it's Marshall."

"Oh, _Marshall,_" Jinx's voice lilted sarcastically. "Brandi talks about him like he's some kind of goddamn Prince Charming. Is he, Mary? What do you expect, that he'll sweep you off your feet and take you away from all this? That he'll _marry _you and save you from your poor pathetic life? Well, don't expect too much. He'll have no more use for you once he's gotten you on your back."

"Don't talk about Marshall like that," Mary muttered, her voice tight and her hands fisted at her sides.

"What was that? I couldn't hear you over the sound of your little-girl princess fantasies."

"Don't talk about Marshall like that!" Mary roared, the dam that held her emotions in check finally snapping. "He's not like any of those worthless bastards you've fucked for money!"

Jinx's hand shot out, lightning fast, and snapped Mary's head back with a hard slap. Mary recoiled back, her hand moving protectively to her cheek. Hunched defensively, she glared at her mother, her eyes burning with pent-up rage.

"Goddamn you, Mary!" Jinx screeched. "You are such an ungrateful little bitch! You don't know what I've done to keep this family together!"

"You call drinking like a goddamn fish 'keeping this family together'? What about spending our rent money on booze and dresses? Is it all part of your campaign for Mother of the Year?"

"You shut your stupid little mouth!" Jinx shrieked, tears trailing down her face. "You are the _worst _daughter… to think, I gave up my life to have you! I could have been so much more, if I hadn't had to deal with you weighing me down!"

"Are you sure that's why you're nothing? Are you sure it isn't because you're a boozehound whose only real talent is the ability to spread your legs?"

Mary knew she'd crossed a line, that her last statement, while not undeserved, would be the final blow that would make Jinx lose it, once and for all. She just didn't care anymore. Part of her wanted it, needed the confrontation; her anger had been brewing for the last month, ever since she'd spent the last week of winter break shoveling snow. Jinx had acted as if it was completely natural that they would be saved at the last minute, and not wanting to admit she was to blame for their predicament, she hadn't bothered to thank Mary even once.

Jinx flew at her, a spitting fury of incomprehensible screams and clawing fingernails. She pulled Mary's hair, hit her, scratched her, and Mary felt the fingernails draw blood on her cheek. Jinx shoved her against the wall, knocking the air out of her in a whuffing breath. Feeling cornered, Mary pushed back, and Jinx stumbled backward and tripped over the coffee table with a startled cry. Mary stood, shaking, with her back against the wall, and watched as Jinx picked herself up.

"You," her mother said, her voice low and dangerous, "get out. I don't care where you go, but I don't want you back in this house tonight."

Not needing to be told twice, Mary scooped up her backpack and bolted out the door.

* * *

Marshall slumped over his desk, his chin propped on his palm, and stared out the window, watching the rain fall on the empty P.E. fields. His biology class, supposedly advanced placement, was a redundancy in his education. It would look good on his record and would count as a college credit, but he wasn't learning anything he didn't already know from previous classes. It couldn't be helped that this district's standards were so much lower than that of his former school; the class was to be tolerated rather than enjoyed, and was all the more tedious on rainy days due to the fact that gym classes were held indoors and there would be no chance of spotting Mary outside.

He wasn't even sure she was at school. He hadn't been able to find her that morning, so he'd made the walk to school alone. He was worried about Mary, though he had no tangible reason to believe anything was wrong. It was completely possible she had simply run late, or gone in early. There were any number of reasons he might not have seen her that morning. He knew he shouldn't really be worried, yet, but he also knew he'd feel better once he knew where she was. Mary wasn't particularly given to deviating from routine, and for all the benign possibilities, there remained the chance that something was actually wrong.

The rest of his biology class passed by with agonizing slowness. Lunch would tell; she would either turn up in the derelict bathroom or she wouldn't, and he decided to let that decide whether he worried or not. It was senseless, because he was worrying already, but he could at least hold on to the comfort of that thought for the time being. It made the wait more bearable, but only slightly; twice, during the discussion of the film they'd watched about frogs, the teacher had caught him unable, in his distraction, to articulate an answer to a question she had posed, though he knew the answers perfectly well.

When at last the lunch bell rang, he darted off toward the restroom. At first glance, it appeared that no one was there, but on closer inspection he noticed that the door to the large, wheelchair-accessible stall at the end was closed. He moved closer and, bending down, peeked under the closed door. There she was, evidently asleep, her head resting on her backpack.

"Mary?" he called to her, softly at first so he wouldn't startle her too badly. He called her name louder when she didn't respond, and when even that failed to wake her, he slid his head and shoulders under the door and reached up to release the latch.

Once he'd gotten the door open, he had room to get a better look at her. There was a set of shallow but bloodied scratches on her face and she was wearing what he was almost certain were her clothes from the day before. He grasped her shoulder and shook it; still failing to rouse her, he pulled her halfway onto his lap and patted her face. She was warm; in fact, she was feverish, though not to an extreme degree, but it was certainly cause for concern. She moaned softly as she began to some around.

"Mary? Wake up, Mary," he urged her. "Come on, Mare, look at me."

Her eyes opened slowly. She looked confused to see him.

"Marshall?" she whispered hoarsely. "What're you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" he countered. "You were asleep on the bathroom floor."

"Oh… am I still in the park?"

"What? No, you're in the bathroom at school," he informed her, his brow furrowed. "Are you telling me you slept in the park?"

She nodded weakly. "Broke into the bathroom. Guess I came here in the morning."

"Jesus, Mary. Why?"

"Jinx kicked me out," she replied. "She was drunk and we had a fight."

"Oh, for the love of God. Why didn't you come to my house?" he asked, feeling frustrated that she hadn't let him help.

"Was late. Didn't want to upset your parents," she murmured quietly. "Cold…"

He pulled her closer to him. "You need to go to the nurse's office, at the very least. You'll be lucky if you don't get seriously ill from this."

"Can't actually get sick from being cold, dumbass."

"No, but prolonged exposure to cold can inhibit your immune system. Now, we either walk to the nurse's office, or I carry you. Which will it be?"

"Cold day in hell… before you carry me anywhere," she hissed. "Help me up."

Marshall lifted her, slinging her arm around his shoulders and wrapping his arm under hers and around her ribs. She leaned heavily against him, only weakly supporting her own weight. They managed a few steps together before she faltered, losing her footing and stumbling against him.

"Alright, that's that," he said, grunting softly as he scooped her up in his arms. "You're getting there one way or another. Just go with it."

"Fine," she replied, too tired to protest. "But take the long way around. Don't want everyone to see."

Marshall obliged, bearing her not insubstantial frame the added distance. She nestled against him as he walked, allowing herself to secretly enjoy his warmth even as she was drawn to it due to her feverish state. She felt herself fading out again, lulled back into sleep by the rhythm of his steps. His voice was a deep rumble from his chest where her head rested as he spoke briefly to the nurse.

Momentarily, she felt herself settled onto a bed, and something warm was draped over her, something that smelled of him; she curled into it, moaning softly as she nestled into the familiar comfort of the smell. A hand gently pushed her hair behind her ear and paused to caress her cheek before it pulled away. Her brow furrowed at the loss of contact, but the hand soon returned.

"Mare? Mary, honey, wake up," Marshall urged gently, sliding his hand under her neck to gently cradle her head. Her eyes squeezed shut more tightly for a moment, then slowly opened to look at him.

"What?" she asked sleepily.

"Take these," he held a pair of pills where she could see them before bringing them to her mouth. "The nurse says they'll help you feel better."

She accepted the pills, as well as the cup of water he held to her lips. Marshall was relieved. The pills were a simple pain reliever and fever reducer, but they'd allow her to rest easier. He suspected from the scratch on her cheek that Jinx had smacked her around before throwing her out, and sleeping on bathroom floors was bound to have made her sore in addition to the fever.

He sighed. It was incomprehensible to him that a mother, any mother, could have so little consideration for her child. Mary was lucky; if the weather had been any colder, or if she hadn't managed to find shelter in the bathroom of the park, she could have died. He didn't want to begin to contemplate the numerous other unpleasant fates that could have befallen a girl at night, unguarded and on her own.

He supposed it could be counted as a blessing that the school nurse thought it was a simple flu. He almost wished he could bring himself to tell her, or anyone who could do something about it, what was going on in that house, but Mary would see that as a betrayal, and he knew she couldn't take another one. As slow as Mary was to trust, which made perfect sense in light of her childhood and her continuing home life, she would likely never let anyone in again, and he would lose her.

Marshall tucked his coat more closely around her, having covered her with it when the nurse had declared in response to his request for a blanket that her office was not the Ritz. It seemed to be keeping her warm enough. He sat with her until the bell that ended lunch rang, at which point the nurse caught his attention with a loud harrumph.

"Isn't it about time you went to class?" she said pointedly, fixing him with a piercing stare.

"Don't sign her out until I come back," he replied evenly. "I want to make sure she gets home alright."

The nurse shrugged. "It doesn't look like she's going anywhere. She really should be sent home now. You're sure her mother isn't available?"

"Very sure," he stated, though he was anything but; what he did know was that bringing Jinx into the mix at the moment was a terrible idea.

He pushed Mary's hair back from her forehead, which was already a bit cooler. She looked like she was resting well, at least for the moment. After running his hand over her hair once more, he left for their English class; at least today, he would be able to explain Mary's absence to Mr. Brunswick's satisfaction.

* * *

Marshall shepherded Mary home carefully, making a stop by Brandi's friend's house to pick the girl up. When they got to Mary's house, for Mary was still feeling too ill to object to Marshall seeing her all the way home, they found Jinx passed out on the floor, a mostly empty bottle of vodka sitting in a puddle where it had fallen and spilled.

Mary stepped over the woman indifferently, heading directly for the bedroom and more sleep. Marshall wasn't even certain she realized he was still there, but at least she was able to cross the distance to the bedroom on her own. Brandi, he noticed, was checking to make sure Jinx was still breathing, and finding that to be the case, she rolled her mother onto her side.

"It's so she won't choke if she barfs," Brandi explained at Marshall's curious glance.

"Do you mind if I make Mary something to eat?" he asked, eyeing Jinx dubiously.

"No. Mary probably would but she's sick, so I guess it doesn't matter," the girl shrugged. "And don't worry about Mom. She won't wake up for hours, judging by the way she smells."

Marshall shook his head and made for the kitchen. There was nearly nothing there, except for an impressive assortment of liquor in one cabinet; the Shannon women didn't tend to keep supplies on hand and lived on an almost day-to-day basis. After searching around, he finally found a packet of ramen and a frozen bag of peas and carrots. He started to cook the noodles, adding some of the vegetables to the water as it came to a boil on the stove. Brandi came in and wrinkled her nose.

"You cut open the ice pack," she stated matter-of-factly.

"I did what?" he questioned her, confused.

"That. The peas and carrots. It's the ice pack," she clarified. "Mom says there's no point in buying an ice pack you can't eat."

"But then if you eat it, you don't have an ice pack anymore."

"Yeah, that's true. That's why we usually don't eat it," Brandi said with a laugh.

"Uh… right," Marshall said, deciding it was better to just go along with it than to argue.

When the ramen finished cooking, he made his way to Mary's room, stepping over Jinx in the process. He set the bowl on Mary's nightstand and sat lightly on the edge of her bed. His eyes came to rest on the clay heart that hung over her headboard. He recognized it; Brandi had shown it to him the day she brought it home from school, when Mary had gone to the bathroom.

He couldn't help but smile. He remembered how happy Mary's sister had been about making it for her, and it warmed his heart to see it in what Mary likely considered a place of honor. It was a sign of how much Mary's sister meant to her that she would reveal her feelings by displaying the memento, even somewhere she thought no one but her family would ever see it.

Still, something had to change. Mary couldn't live like this forever. Even though it wasn't far off, he was surprised she'd made it this close to her eighteenth birthday. Her mother certainly hadn't been any help. What Mary really needed was a shot at a real life.

He started as he felt something poke him in the arm; he turned, and found Brandi there with an envelope.

"Mary got this in the mail," Brandi stated, handing it to him. "It's a lot thicker than the others she got, the ones I saw her tear up and throw away. Don't tell her I know about those, okay?"

Marshall turned the envelope over in his hands. It was from the University of New Mexico. Brandi was right. It was especially thick. It was like the one he'd gotten, with an acceptance packet inside.

"Hey, Brandi…" he asked hesitantly. "What do you think about Mary going to college?"

"I dunno. I don't want her to go away and leave me here," she replied. "But… I don't want her to be stuck with Mom forever. It'll never get better than this. Mary says it doesn't matter, because she'll never be able to afford it."

Marshall nodded, deep in thought. "Listen, Brandi… don't tell her about this letter yet, okay? I want to talk with her about it before she sets her mind on anything."

"Okay, Marshall," she said quietly. "Is Mary going to be okay?"

"She should be fine. She just needs rest, if she can get any while she's dealing with… you know," he gestured toward the living room and Jinx in frustration.

Brandi nodded and moved to sit on her own bed as Marshall tucked the envelope away. He set about waking Mary up, a prospect that proved daunting until she realized he had food, at which point his task all but took care of itself.

"Where did you get the vegetables from?" she asked, prodding at the peas and carrots in confusion.

"He used the ice pack," Brandi informed her, grinning broadly.

"Oh, great. Now we'll have to buy another one," she grumbled, rolling her eyes as she spooned another mouthful in. "It tastes pretty good though. Who knew it would be worth eating?"

"Listen, Mary…" Marshall began.

"Spare me the big lecture, okay? I already feel like crap as it is," she muttered, a guilty look creeping over her face.

"Just… don't ever do that again," he murmured softly. She met his gaze and read in his eyes how worried for her he'd been.

"I won't," she replied, reaching for his hand and lacing her fingers through his. "I promise."

Marshall nodded and squeezed her hand, his throat suddenly tight with emotion.

"Don't get so worked up," she said consolingly. "It wasn't that bad."

"Yeah, Mary, I know," he sighed. "But it could have been a lot worse."

The pair sat in silence for a moment, both deep in thought as Brandi looked on. Everything was such a chaotic mess; college applications, sleeping in park bathrooms, and Jinx passed out in the living room, and there seemed no easy way to unravel it all.

* * *

**A/N: I channeled some of my sick into Mary. Sorry, Mary! Every now and then, what's been going on ends up in my stories. Hope it works for y'all! Let me know what you think of this chapter, and stick around for the next one! =D**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I don't own IPS. Consider me disclaimed!**

**Author's Note: There's some bad decision-making ahead. Just giving you all a heads-up. And with that, I give you... this update! Enjoy. =)**

* * *

**Fish Out of Water**

**Chapter 11**

Marshall grunted as he landed hard on the ice, and not for the first time that day. Wincing at the soreness of his backside, he slowly pushed himself back up, only to have his rented skates slip out from under him again, earning him another impact on the rink. The ice beneath him felt much harder than it looked.

Brandi skated up to him swiftly, her sister trailing behind. She held out her hands, her small frame braced to take his weight, and he accepted. She helped him right himself, far more steady on the ice than he was. Marshall thanked her with an embarrassed grimace. He had never been ice skating before but he hadn't expected to me this bad at it. He caught Mary's amused smirk as she watched him wobble across the ice; though still a bit sick and accordingly sluggish, she handled the ice with a long-practiced ease that he secretly envied.

Mary had mostly recovered from her night spent in the park, in February, an act of reckless self-endangerment that Marshall was still inwardly struggling to comprehend. Now only slightly under the weather, she had agreed to come skating with her sister, for which Marshall had volunteered to pay. He was having fun, or so he told himself, though it would admittedly be more enjoyable if he wasn't spending so much time on his ass. At least the sisters were having a good time; Brandi flew across the ice without a trace of fear, as if the thought of falling never entered her mind, and Mary, while more cautious in her skating, looked relaxed as though for once she was thinking of nothing else.

Relief blossomed in him. With the constant tension in her household since the rent incident, it had been some time since he'd seen Mary this content. Gone was the restlessness, the nervous agitation that had marked the past month. Her altercation with Jinx had been a long time coming. Thankfully, aside from a few days in bed with something akin to the flu, there had so far been no repercussions from that night. Jinx seemed to want to forget it happened, either because she couldn't face Mary's accusations of poor parenting, or because she had been so drunk that she had actually forgotten. It was possible that it was a little of each; Marshall thought it likely that what the woman could recall left her disinclined to quest after what was missing.

He smiled as he watched Mary skate, and the distraction caused him to falter again. In an instant, Brandi was at his side, tucked under his arm and steadying him, preventing another fall. Mary skated up in front of him and held out her hands. He took them, and she began to skate slowly backward. Brandi's hands pushed against the small of his back, keeping him upright as he followed her big sister's lead.

"I taught Brandi how to skate this way," Mary said, smiling happily at the memory. "She was a lot smaller than you, though. I could keep her standing straight just by holding her arms."

"He looks like a giraffe trying to skate," Brandi added from behind him with a giggle.

Mary looked at him, her eyes widening as she considered her sister's doubtlessly apt comparison, and she tried and failed to stifle a laugh. Marshall's trepidation on the ice vanished in the face of the perceived challenge, and slipping his arm around her waist, he pushed off with one foot and pulled her into a slow spin. Mary found her hands tucked between them, palms pressed to his chest. Breathless at being drawn into his embrace so suddenly, she looked up, meeting his gaze as they slid across the ice. He smirked and raised an eyebrow at her.

"Now who's a giraffe?" he murmured softly, his breath misting in the air as he spoke.

She leaned into him, not enough to set him off-balance, but enough to bring their faces closer together. He searched her eyes for what she wanted from him; finding an answer, he slowly brought his lips to hers. There was the barest brush of contact before he lost his footing again.

He grabbed Mary reflexively before his knees could hit the ice, and with a soft grunt she held on, somehow maintaining her balance even as she took the bulk of his weight. They froze for a moment, her arms under his, his hands clinging to her shoulders, his face crushed to her chest in their awkward embrace. He looked up at her from the folds of her sweater, grinning sheepishly.

"Yep, still a giraffe," she teased, her eyes sparkling.

She braced herself and kept her hold on him as he gingerly found his feet, helping him to steady himself as he stood. Her hands slipped to grip his forearms from underneath, and he held on for stability. The moment, however, was lost, replaced by another moment of a more platonic tone. Marshall gave her a rueful smile.

Brandi drew up next to her sister and prodded at her. When Mary asked what she wanted, she tilted her head toward the far side of the rink. Mary looked where her sister had indicated, her grip on Marshall's arms tightening as she froze. Her entire frame was suddenly tense. Marshall followed her stare and saw that she was looking at someone; a rather dirty and rough-looking guy wearing a worn denim jacket. The man sucked on a cigarette, staring at them even through the poisonous cloud of smoke he slowly exhaled.

"Mary?" Marshall questioned softly.

"It's nothing," she muttered, shaking her head and glancing at her sister. "Squish, it's time to go."

The trio made their way off the ice, Marshall managing to stay on his feet. Mary and Brandi quickly changed out of their skates; Marshall followed suit and returned his to the rental desk. He followed the sisters as they made their way to the exit, glancing over his shoulder in an attempt to assuage his growing feeling of unease. The individual that had Mary so rattled was still standing in the same place, unmoving except to bring the cigarette to his mouth again, staring after them.

* * *

"Be straight with me, Mary," Marshall demanded. "Who was that guy yesterday, at the skating rink? Why was he staring at you?"

"What makes you think he was staring at me?" she deflected.

"Well, I don't know him, and if he was staring at Brandi, that's an entirely different problem."

Mary huffed. "Fine, so he was staring at me. What's it to you?"

Marshall threw his hands up in exasperation. "I don't know. Maybe the fact that some total creep was staring at my best friend and making her uncomfortable as hell is something I should find relevant somehow."

"I'm your best friend?" she asked hesitantly.

"You're my only friend, aside from Brandi," he said with a frustrated sigh.

Mary looked at the sidewalk, deep in thought. There was so much going on. She still didn't know where she stood with Jinx. That situation seemed more tenuous with every day that passed without Jinx either blaming her or absolving her. Being ignored was like being in purgatory, uncertain what her fate was to be, and that was in some ways worse than a decisive move in either direction. On top of that, there was the acceptance letter from UNM. Marshall had given it to her at lunch, and her backpack seemed heavy from the weight of the knowledge that it was in there.

At least some good had come of that; Mr. Brunswick's reaction had been priceless. He had gaped and spluttered like a fish pulled from the water and unable to breathe. When he had finally recovered, he had marked a check next to her name in his damned grade ledger. _"Still capable of surprises, I see. Good for you, Miss Shannon," _he'd remarked. Mary had blushed, snatched the letter back, and dashed to her seat. It was the first praise she'd gotten in school since she didn't know when, and she didn't know how to take it.

She didn't know what to do with the letter, either. Marshall warned her that applications for financial aid would be coming due, so she would have to decide soon. _Financial aid, _she scoffed silently, _what a pipe dream. _The thought, however, made her feel sad; as much as she believed that the reality of her ever getting to go to college was utter nonsense, deep down, she _wanted _to believe in more. A part of her hated herself for even daring to desire a life she could never have, and under that, she grieved for the loss of something that would never be.

Marshall confused her, too. He kept pushing college like he thought it could happen for her. He said things like what he'd just told her, that she was his best friend. And their almost-kiss on the ice the day before… _Where does he think this is going? Doesn't he realize that after graduation, he'll be gone and I'll be stuck here? That this is all going to end? _

Mary chewed her lip as she brooded. Mark's reappearance at the skating rink was a new complication, too. She'd been thoroughly creeped out the first time she'd spotted him there, but seeing him there this time as well… it didn't feel like a coincidence to her. She thought she'd seen him around other places too, while she was out and about, but she wasn't sure; she knew, though, that she'd seen his piece of crap Camaro drive by the high school a few times, and she thought it might have driven by her house at night, more than once. Mark was probably stalking her, though she couldn't imagine why, and the thought of trying to explain any of it to Marshall made her feel ashamed of herself. _I'm the one who almost dated the guy, _she reasoned, _so that makes it my fault, and my problem._

"What in the hell…" Marshall murmured, his voice rough with concern and, she thought, a hint of anger as well.

She looked up and came to an abrupt stop. There it was; the Camaro, parked across the street from Brandi's elementary school. Mark stood beside it, leaning on the hood, looking every inch a scumbag. He spotted her, and though he was wearing sunglasses, she could feel his stare upon her. The sensation made her skin crawl. She stood, rooted to the spot, as one of the teachers bustled across the street and had words with him. Flicking his cigarette to the ground and causing the teacher to jump back, he pulled the driver's side door open, climbed in, and drove away.

"Okay, Mary, this is getting serious," Marshall said firmly as he turned to her. "Who the hell is that guy, and why does he keep turning up wherever you are? Unless he really is after Brandi?"

"He's not after my sister," Mary replied, though with less conviction than he would have liked. "I knew he was back in town, but I don't have a clue what he wants. He's just been lurking around like that."

"You know him? And he's been following you around for how long?" he asked incredulously.

"Mark's been back since just after Thanksgiving, that I know of," she answered quietly. "He didn't start showing up in weird places like that until Christmas, and I wasn't even sure he was after me until we saw him yesterday."

"Mark? As in, might have disappeared because he was in _prison, _that Mark?"

"That was just a rumor, and he'd have been sent to county jail if his sentence was less than a year anyway," she replied defensively.

"That really doesn't make it okay for him to be hanging out in front of Brandi's school," Marshall hissed.

"You think I don't know that?" she snapped.

"We should call the police, Mary. Tell the school. Something."

"Don't bother," she said evenly. "I'll take care of this."

Sighting them, Brandi came scurrying over from the schoolyard. Mary broke into a smile, the most recent of many happy faces Marshall had seen her fake for her sister's benefit.

* * *

Brandi was in bed, Jinx was out, and Mary sat in her mother's bedroom alone. She looked over the college acceptance letter she held in her hand, tracing her fingers over it absently. It was so unfair, when she let herself think about it; she wanted it so badly, but it was something that could never be. She folded the letter into its envelope and tucked it away into her bag.

Moving to the closet, she stood on the kitchen chair she'd set there and reached to the left for the niche in the wall along the top shelf. Finding it, she drew out a parcel bundled in a scarf. She stepped down from the chair and sat on the bed, holding the bundle carefully. She laid it on the bed and unwrapped the scarf, revealing the snub-nosed revolver her father had given to Jinx before he left them.

Mary didn't think Jinx knew she was aware of its existence, but she remembered seeing him hand it to her, remembered her mother holding it tenuously by the grip with just the tips of her fingers and shoving it into her underwear drawer before angrily demanding of her husband why he thought she would need the disgusting thing.

Taking in the glinting reflection of moonlight on the smooth metal of the gun, Mary supposed her father had left it for occasions like this one. She picked it up and popped the chamber open. It was loaded, because Jinx could barely stand to hold the thing long enough to load it under normal circumstances, let alone any under which she might actually need to use it. Snapping it shut again, Mary tucked the weapon into her bag, right next to her college letter.

* * *

Marshall watched Mary with concern. She'd been unusually taciturn all day; he'd gotten barely a word out of her on the walk to school, during lunch, and in English class. She wasn't much of a talker to begin with, but this was different. She was preoccupied, and it didn't take even the majority of his intelligence to realize that it probably had to do with either Mark or her acceptance to college, or both, but there was something heavy about her silence that went beyond her usual brooding. It worried him, and he was unwilling to let her out of his sight until he figured out what was amiss.

When they arrived at Brandi's school, he saw it; that damned Camaro was parked up a side street, away from the watchful eyes of teachers but with a clear view of their walking route.

"He's here," Marshall informed her quietly, giving a miniscule jerk of his head in the direction of the car.

Mary veered down a small alley between houses that cut through to the sandlot the school used for sports. She hunched against the fence and crouched low, out of sight. Rummaging through her backpack, she fished out the gun.

"Jesus Christ, Mary!" Marshall hissed when he saw it. "What the hell are you doing with that?"

"What does it look like, numbnuts? I'm gonna scare the fucker so bad he'll leave me and my sister alone," she growled. "Maybe he'll even crap his pants. I'll just have to see what happens."

"Is it loaded?" he asked worriedly.

"Of course it's loaded," she scoffed at him. "What good is it if it isn't loaded?"

"Mary, this is a really, _really_ bad idea," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. "This isn't the right way to handle this."

"Then you tell me, Marshall," she snapped. "What is the right way? What would Miss Manners do in this scenario?"

"Call the cops, Mare! It's what they're there for!"

"And when they realize I know the guy who keeps hanging out by my sister's school, what do you think happens to my chances of ever getting custody of Brandi?" she cried, her voice thick with frustration.

"We'll figure something out," he replied. "Just give me the gun, please?"

Mary ran a hand through her hair and put the butt of the gun in his outstretched palm. Marshall swiftly flipped open the chamber and tapped the bullets out into his hand, stuffing them into his pocket. Closing the chamber with a snap, he tucked the now unloaded gun into the back of his pants beneath his coat.

"What the fuck am I gonna do now?" Mary murmured. She looked up at him, her eyes burning with anger, not for him but for her own helplessness.

"We'll figure it out," he repeated. "It'll be okay."

"It's never going to be okay," she whispered, on the verge of tears. She slapped something against his chest; he caught her hand in his, feeling something of a papery texture, but he didn't look away from her to see what it was.

"That's why I can never leave," she added, pushing away from him. She grabbed her bag and bolted before he could see the tears on her face that she couldn't hold back.

He looked down where her hand had been, where his still was, and saw that it held her acceptance letter from UNM.

* * *

**A/N: Dun dun duuuuunnnn! Things are getting bumpy! Hang in there! I want to take a moment to thank all of you, my awesome readers, and especially those who've reviewed! I love reading your feedback! Let me know what you think of this chapter, and I hope you'll come back for the next one! =)**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.**

**Author's Note: Poor decisions are still being made. Also, this chapter's a little bit shorter than the average for this story, owing to the fact that I've caught my husband's cold... but it's considerably more action packed than usual. Enjoy! =)**

* * *

**Fish Out of Water**

**Chapter 12**

"Marshall, honey, we'll see you Sunday evening," his mother chirped happily. "Oh, I'm so excited! Your father and I haven't been on a weekend away in so long!"

"Have a good time, Mom," he replied with a smile.

"No parties," Seth Mann growled, his tone telling Marshall he was pretending to be joking, but was in actuality completely serious.

"As if there was even the slightest chance," he rolled his eyes.

"Really, darling, would Marshall do that?" his mother cast his father an amused glance. "One of his brothers, maybe… but now that they've moved out, we can finally go on trips together!"

Seth grunted, fixing his youngest son with a penetrating stare. "If I catch even a whiff of tomfoolery when I get back, it's your ass."

"No tomfoolery. Got it," he confirmed as he held the door open and ushered his parents out.

"And don't even think about touching my beer," Seth offered as a parting shot.

"Ooh, did you book the suite with the Jacuzzi tub?" Marshall heard his mother ask his father with a giggle. His father answered with a raunchy growl and pretended to chase her to the car as she squealed with glee.

"Oh God, that's disturbing," he murmured to himself with a shudder. He closed the door and flopped onto the sofa.

His father needn't have worried; Marshall was not predisposed to be of a partying nature, and even had he been, he hardly had enough friends to invite. He had just one, Mary… two if he counted her sister. Accordingly, he had no plans for the evening, even though it was a Friday. Really, it was _because _it was Friday. It was a night on which Mary's mother would be particularly likely to come home drunk, and Mary would be busy first with taking care of her sister and later with handling her mother once she came home.

Truth be told, Marshall's plan for the night was to stay near the phone. He knew, deep down, that Mary would not likely call if she had trouble, preferring to handle it on her own, but that didn't stop him from wanting to be ready in case she did.

The afternoon wore on, and Marshall found his thoughts drifting to that other problem… Mark. The guy was trouble of the worst kind, for sure; though he'd stopped hanging around Brandi's school after parents had complained and teachers had repeatedly run him off, Marshall was pretty sure he was still following Mary. He'd spotted him more than once in the intervening weeks, lurking in the background, and Marshall had done his best to be with Mary as much as possible.

Then there was the other problem: Mary's acceptance letter. The situation with Mark had made up her mind, it seemed; she believed that her sister wouldn't be safe if she was gone, and she had punctuated her point by giving the letter to him. The matter, from her point of view, was literally out of her hands. Marshall sighed as he turned the envelope over, staring at it as he thought. It wasn't just Mark, but everything; Mary wouldn't leave her sister in her mother's care either, with or without Mark's threatening presence, and he couldn't entirely blame her for that. Without Mary, Brandi wouldn't stand a chance. With deadlines fast approaching, it looked very much like Mary wouldn't be going to college after all.

Marshall was still wallowing in melancholy when the phone rang. He stared at it for a moment, disbelieving; it couldn't possibly be Mary… more likely, his dad was calling to check up on him. Either way, he needed to answer. His dad would probably turn the car around and come home to make sure he wasn't up to something if he didn't pick up the phone.

"Mann residence," he stated his family's pre-approved greeting.

"Marshall?" a quavering, tear-filled voice came over the line. "Marshall, is that you?"

"Brandi?" he recognized the voice and a sudden spike of anxiety catapulted his heart into his throat. "What's wrong?"

"Mary left!" the girl wailed. "She packed some clothes in her backpack… she handed me Biscuit the bear and said I was on my own now!"

"What?" Marshall was incredulous. It seemed completely unlike Mary to abandon her sister.

"She's gone! She told me I was old enough to deal with Mom…"

"Okay, okay…" he said, trying to calm both Brandi and himself. "Where did she go?"

"She went away with that Mark guy," she sniffled. "She said they were going to run away and… and get married… Marshall, I don't know what to do! I don't like Mark, he's scary like those boys after school, that wanted to… hurt… me…" Brandi burst into tears again. "I him say something like… it was her choice, it was her or me."

"Oh God…" Marshall breathed. It was just like Mary to do something crazy if she thought it would protect her sister. The marriage thing was undoubtedly a lie she'd told Brandi to make her think everything was okay, and it obviously hadn't worked. _Mary, what did you do?_

"Marshall, please, you have to find her! I don't know anyone else to ask for help!" Brandi sobbed desperately.

"Did you hear where they were going?"

"Wait… wait, yeah, I think so," she paused as she tried to think. "When Mark pushed her into the car, he said something."

_The car? Pushed? _Marshall's heart sank. This was getting worse by the minute. "What did he say? Tell me exactly as you remember it."

Brandi paused for a moment, thinking. "He said, 'Time to go have some fun… at the alley.' But I don't know where that is…"

"Okay, Brandi, listen to me. I want you to go to a friend's house and stay over there tonight," he said calmly, though his thoughts were frantic as he tried to put a plan together. "That one girl, what's her name…"

"Stacey?"

"Yeah, her. Go over there, leave a note for your mom that you're staying with a friend but don't say which one because you don't want her to show up drunk. Give me the number there and I'll call as soon as I can." Brandi quickly relayed the number and Marshall scribbled it down.

"But who will take care of Mom if I'm not here?" Brandi asked, her voice trembling.

"She's on her own," Marshall said, trying to keep the disgust he was feeling for Jinx out of his voice. "Don't even worry about her right now. Just take care of yourself."

"You're going to find Mary, right?"

"I'm sure as hell going to try."

Marshall hung up the phone and ran upstairs to put his shoes on. He tied the laces and started to leave, but hesitated. He went to his dresser and pulled the bottom drawer open. With a jiggle, the drawer was completely out, and from the space between where the drawer had been and the bottom of the dresser itself, he pulled a wooden box. He opened it and took out the six-chambered snub-nosed revolver he'd taken from Mary weeks before, along with the ammunition he'd emptied from the gun. After reloading the revolver and tucking it into the back of his jeans, he pulled the back of his shirt down over it.

Heading downstairs, he grabbed the keys to his dad's truck that had been left for his use in his parents' absence, and bolted out the door.

* * *

Marshall had been driving for nearly an hour, and he'd been down more alleys than he could recall with no positive results. He didn't want to think about the possibility that he'd simply missed them, that he had already been in the right place but at the wrong time. His hopes of finding her alone were getting slimmer by the minute, and he began to feel that he'd made a serious mistake in not calling the police… but that would have gotten Brandi taken away from Jinx and therefore from Mary as well, and he didn't want to think what she'd do if she lost her sister. Brandi was, at times, Mary's only reason to keep living, and she would need her sister to be there when she came home… if she came home. Pushing that horrifying notion away, he tightened his grip on the wheel. He couldn't give up on her yet.

He kept driving, and that's when he saw it. He'd been searching the nearby business district for about ten minutes, and he now noticed a particular building which, though it was a Friday night and the place should have been packed to the gills, appeared to be closed. _A bowling alley, _he thought, his heart pounding. _A closed-down bowling alley. That's got to be it._

He noticed a few cars parked in the back, nearly hidden by the building itself, including the crappy old Camaro Mark had been driving the few times Marshall had seen him. He drove past the defunct business, parking just around the corner. Taking a deep breath, Marshall stepped out of the truck and into the night. He made his way through the dark as stealthily as possible, sticking to shadows until he got to the back of the bowling alley.

The back door was hanging loose on its hinges, obviously pried open sometime previously, but was unguarded. Hesitating a moment, Marshall pulled the gun from the waistband of his pants and, holding it lowered but ready, he crept inside. The stale interior smelled of liquor and cigarette smoke, along with an even less pleasant medley of odors from which Marshall could only readily identify urine and vomit. He fought the urge to gag as he edged silently through the darkness.

Working his way through the back rooms of the bowling alley, he arrived at a doorway through which a dim light flickered, the door missing. Back pressed to the wall and heart pounding, he slid over to the door and took a quick peek. The door opened onto the main room of the bowling alley where the actual lanes were; the place was obviously being used as a crash pad. There were a few mattresses, and the room was lit by candles. Beer and liquor bottles were strewn everywhere, and the floor was littered with cigarette butts. A large wooden spool of the kind used for electrical wiring served as a table, on which lay an assortment of drug paraphernalia.

Most noticeable, however, were the three men in the room. Mark was one of them, and the other two looked even rougher than he did. It looked as though they'd been drinking and doing who knew what else for some time. Marshall felt a rising dread that he may have arrived too late… but then the biggest of the three spoke.

"Hey, Mark… I think it's time for the entertainment," he said with a growl that turned into an insidious chuckle, and the other man joined him in laughing.

Mark lumbered out of the room, into what looked to be one of the establishment's restrooms, and when he returned, he was pushing a stumbling Mary in front of him. She was gagged and her wrists were bound behind her back, and her face showed the first traces of a black eye, but she appeared otherwise to be unharmed. _For now, anyway. _Marshall cringed; it would have made sense to tie her ankles as well, and the fact that the men hadn't done so was telling.

The second man approached her and kicked her legs out from under her. She hit the ground with a thump and a muffled cry, but quickly scrambled back to her feet and backed away from the men.

"Come on, girlie, play nice," the second man taunted, eliciting another laugh from the leader.

Mark approached her. "You know the deal, Mary… it's either you… or your sister."

Marshall saw a look of alarm cross her face, and then another expression that truly terrified him: one of submission. Mary was about to give in. He rounded the doorframe and brought the gun to bear.

"I don't think so," his voice rang sharply through the room, followed by the sound of the weapon's hammer as he cocked it back. He wasn't the son of a marshal for nothing; he knew his way around guns… but this was completely different from a trip to the firing range, and his hands trembled slightly even as they cupped the butt of the revolver.

"First time drawing down on a man, is that it?" the leader said with a sneer. The other man laughed menacingly and began to move toward Marshall, who steadied his grip and slipped his finger into the trigger guard.

"One more step and I'll fucking drop you," Marshall said coldly. Something in his tone got through to the thug, who hesitated; Marshall was deadly serious, and ready to fire.

* * *

**A/N: Whoa, Marshall! What are you doing? Being a badass, that's what! =)**

**Dear Readers, how do you like the cliffhanger? As always, let me know what you think of the update, and stick around for the next one! =D**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I don't own In Plain Sight. But how cool would it be if I did? ;)**

**Author's Note: Hopefully I'm done being sick. I am pleased to present the latest installment of Fish Out of Water. Cliffhanger resolution in 3, 2, 1...**

* * *

**Fish Out of Water**

**Chapter 13**

"One more step and I'll fucking drop you," Marshall said coldly. Something in his tone got through to the thug, who hesitated; Marshall was deadly serious, and ready to fire.

His command hung in the air, authoritative and steady, and for a moment everything seemed to freeze around him. Halted in mid-motion, the three men eyed him nervously. Mary had a surprised look on her face, almost shocked; for her, the iron will that radiated from him was the most unexpected turn of events she'd experienced that night. Both she and her abductors waited, motionless, for whatever came next.

"Hands up, unless you want the big guy's brains all over the bowling lanes," he ordered, and at a nod from their leader, the men complied. Whatever they wanted from Mary, they clearly weren't willing to die for it.

"Mary," he called to her. "Come over here, get behind me, and don't block my line of fire."

She didn't have to be told twice; giving all three men a wide berth, she trotted quickly but steadily over to him. As she passed just behind him, he murmured softly so only she could hear.

"Silver truck, parked around the corner, it's unlocked. Go. I'll be right behind you."

She headed through the door as Marshall backed up slowly behind her.

As he moved backward toward the doorway, his feet caught in the debris that littered the floor. He fell hard on his backside. Fortunately, the gun in his hand didn't discharge, but the thugs recognized that the situation had just turned to their advantage and began to advance. Panicked, Marshall brought the gun to bear again, but his hands were shaking too badly to aim well.

With a quick glance around, he spotted a crate near him with an array of lit candles on it, one of several which lit the room. Falling onto his back, he kicked sharply against the crate with both feet, sending the candles scattering. A couple of them landed on the nearest of the few mattresses scattered here and there. The booze-soaked mattress, doubtlessly having had liquor spilled on it numerous times before, burst into flame; tendrils of flame raced across the floor along pooling threads of a recent spill, spreading fire rapidly though the detritus.

The men recoiled with shouts as the flames spread amongst the debris on the floor, blocking their path toward Marshall and the back exit; Marshall, having heaved himself up from the floor, was already hauling ass out the back. Once he breached the plane of the rear doorway, he paused, aiming the gun downward and letting the hammer down slowly. His breath rasped in his throat, aggravated by the black smoke billowing from the building. He bolted from the lot as the abandoned bowling alley went up in flames.

He caught up to Mary, who had managed to haul the driver's side door open even with her hands tied behind her, and had beached herself on the truck's bench seat. Heart pounding in his ears and fueled by the adrenaline rush coursing through him, Marshall pushed her into the passenger seat as though she weighed nothing. As he jumped in beside her, she turned and caught sight of the bowling alley. Her eyes widened at the smoke climbing from the structure, open flames now visible in a few places from the outside.

He gunned the ignition, the revolver on the seat between them, and took off into the night. He took random turns, reducing their speed once he deemed they'd reached a safe distance so as to avoid attention. He reached over, one hand still on the wheel, and tugged the gag loose from Mary's mouth.

"You okay?" he asked breathlessly.

"Shut up and drive," she croaked, her mouth dry from the cloth. Tears streaked down her face as the reality of her narrow escape hit home.

* * *

Marshall pulled at last into the parking lot of the park where they sometimes went with Brandi. It was the only place he could think of for the moment; he had no idea where Mary wanted to go. Her hands were still tied behind her back, he realized. In the haste of their escape, he'd forgotten entirely. He fished in the glove box for the utility knife he knew his father kept there, and made short work of the heavy cord that bound her. She sat back, rubbing circulation back into her hands and her chafed wrists.

"I can't believe you set the place on fire," she said at last, her voice soft and quiet.

"Oh God…" Marshall moaned, shoving the truck's door open roughly. He scrabbled over to some bushes and fell to his hands and knees heaving his guts out.

Mary climbed out after him, lingering at a respectful distance until he was done being sick. He sat back on the grass and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. She knelt beside him and watched him with concern, tentatively laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Do you think they got out?" he whispered, looking up at her. A tear streaked down his face, followed by another, both cutting faint trails through a smudge of sooty grime there.

"Does it really matter?" Mary asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest. His concern for the lives of her would-be rapists had her suddenly on the defensive; she wasn't yet ready to face how close she'd come to a horrible fate, and she covered her discomfort as best she could.

"Yes, it fucking matters, Mary!" he exploded, the stress of the night looking for an outlet and finding one. "I might have just killed three people!"

"You say that like they didn't fucking deserve it!" she shouted back.

"That isn't the point! I just burned down a goddamned building with three people in it, and what does that say about me, Mary? It says I'm an arsonist and a murderer!"

"It was self defense or something! You know what they were going to do to me, what they'd probably have done to you if you didn't get away," she replied, gripping his arm.

Marshall barked a bitter, hollow laugh. "Yeah, because so many people defend themselves by setting buildings on fire."

"Look, if it's that important to you, I'm sure they got out. The front window of the place is broken out, so it wouldn't be that hard. And that place was set to be torn down anyway," she offered, hoping to calm him down. "I bet you just earned the owner a huge insurance settlement."

"You really think so?" he asked doubtfully.

"Yeah, I do," she murmured. "I doubt those guys will ever say anything about it either, because they won't want to admit what they were doing there."

Marshall nodded, roughly wiping tears away from his face as he struggled to get control of himself.

"I didn't expect it to burn like that," he said quietly. "They were coming after me and I kicked a crate at them to try to slow them down."

Mary nodded thoughtfully at his response. She wasn't that surprised; the place had been closed down because it wasn't up to the fire code, or so she'd heard. That, coupled with the interior abuse wrought by Mark and his partners and who knew how many others had turned the place into a firetrap. Of course, Marshall wouldn't have known about any of that beyond what was visible in the dimly lit interior, which he'd only seen for a few minutes.

"How did you find me?" Mary asked suddenly. "I mean, how did you even know something happened?"

"Brandi called me," he replied, his voice still shaky. He saw Mary's concern and added, "She's safe. I sent her over to her friend's house for the night. You can call over there in the morning."

She nodded, biting her lip and looking contemplative.

"Marshall…" she hesitated.

"What?" he replied tiredly.

"Thank you… for looking out for Brandi," she murmured softly.

"And?" he prompted.

"And… for saving me," she added.

"I should take you home," he said as he hefted himself off of the ground. Mary mirrored his actions but shook her head.

"I'm not going home. Brandi's safe, and I can't deal with Jinx right now. I'll probably just sleep here again," she gestured to the park.

"No, you won't," he bit out, his voice suddenly sharp. "We've been over that. You're not sleeping in the park anymore."

"Well, where else am I supposed to go?" she huffed, crossing her arms again.

"You could come home with me," Marshall offered tentatively.

"Your parents would be thrilled, I'm sure."

"They're out of town. Won't be back until late on Sunday."

Mary nodded slowly, a dubious expression on her face. "I guess that could work."

"It's better than the park," he affirmed as he led the way back to the truck.

* * *

Marshall sat on the floor and leaned against his bed, watching Mary sleep. His mother would notice if the guest bedroom was used, so his own room was the only place to put her… not that he minded. She had showered and borrowed one of his t-shirts to sleep in, and she'd been out moments after she'd curled up under the blankets.

He'd taken a shower himself, washing away the soot and the smoke smell that seemed to permeate everything; it was probably going to be in his nose for days, but at least he could get it off of him before he got the smell all over the house. The water that circled down the drain was more dirty than he'd thought it would be. Apparently his escape from the burning building had been narrower than he'd thought, and a gnawing worry about the fate of Mary's assailants returned to him.

After drying himself off and pulling on a clean shirt and a pair of pajama pants, he'd thrown his clothes in the washer. With any luck, his mother wouldn't question why he'd needed to do laundry, if she even noticed. He had thought to get Mary's clothes too, and had gone upstairs to retrieve them before he started the washload.

He had planned to go back downstairs, perhaps sleep on the sofa, but once he saw her, asleep in his bed, he couldn't bear to leave her. The clothes could wait, he supposed. The events of the night had been a disaster, and yet could have been so much worse. So he'd sat, watching her as she slept, the realization of how close he'd come to losing her warring with self-recriminations over his actions. There was a right way to do things, as his father often reminded him, and a wrong way; he'd undoubtedly taken the wrong path, and he had no idea what was going to happen to him as a result. Yet, here Mary was, safe and mostly unharmed, and wasn't that worth it? In all his father's talk of right and wrong, he had somehow failed to cover gray areas.

Marshall reached for her hand and held it in his own as she slept. Somehow, even though she was so plainly the source of this catastrophic upheaval in his life, on this night when he had deviated so sharply from the norm, stretched beyond all limits, she was also his lifeline. Holding onto her was the only thing that made sense to him, and her hand in his kept him from feeling like he was drowning.

* * *

**A/N: Whew, that's a lot of action for one chapter! To my readers, as always, thank you for reading and sticking with this story! Let me know what you thought of this chapter, and stick around for the next update! =D**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I don't own In Plain Sight, I just spin nonsense about the characters. =)**

**Author's Note: Well... it's an update! And I hope you like it. This chapter is dedicated to all the people who are still reading this even with my horribly mangled update schedule. To you, from me, enjoy! =D

* * *

**

**Fish Out of Water**

**Chapter 14**

Mary awoke to bright sunlight pouring through an unfamiliar window framed by blue curtains. The light poured over the bed she found herself in, also strange and in more ways than one. For one thing, she didn't recognize it, and for another… she remembered as she examined the odd planet-and-comet space-themed print on the dark blue sheets that she had come home with Marshall the night before. Memories of the previous evening's events flooded back to her and she pushed them away, feeling uncomfortable.

She rolled over sleepily, stopping when she saw Marshall. He'd apparently fallen asleep sitting on the floor, flopped face-down against the bed. His back rose and fell with rhythmic, sleeping breaths, and his head rested on one of his arms atop the bedspread; the other arm lay as though he'd been reaching for something. Reaching toward him, Mary realized he must have fallen asleep holding her hand. She felt oddly touched by the gesture, a feeling that was followed by a pang of regret for the disruption she'd caused him. She ran her fingers gently through his hair and he mumbled wordlessly in his sleep.

He was exhausted, she could see plainly; Marshall, she felt, was not typically the sort of person who would be so unguarded around others, even in sleep, and she was genuinely surprised to have not woken him up. Reasoning that he must need sleep badly, she slipped from the bed and dressed quietly. Emptying his backpack, she grabbed the shirt she'd slept in and rolled the revolver in it before stuffing it inside.

Something in the contents of his backpack caught her eye; she picked the object up and examined it. It was a spiral bound notebook, labeled for a class they did not share. That level of math was far beyond her inclinations, if not her actual abilities. It wasn't like she had the time to put in for the amount of studying she'd need anyway, but what had really captured her attention was not the subject written on the cover but what else was written there. Flipping through, she found that the theme continued throughout. Once she found a blank page toward the back, she folded the notebook open to it and scribbled a quick note. She left it sitting on the bed, next to her sleeping friend, and quietly slipped downstairs, the backpack slung over her shoulder.

* * *

The wooden fence creaked under Mary's weight as she scaled it and dropped into her back yard, having approached her house from the back as discreetly as possible. No one would consider it that unusual for a girl to be walking down the street shortly before noon on a Saturday, but fence-jumping was another matter. Nonetheless, she hadn't wanted to approach her house from the front, even though she was reasonably sure they'd gotten away clean the night before; it was best not to take chances, especially on an errand such as this one.

She set down Marshall's bag and flipped back the doormat, revealing a key hidden not particularly well. She had left her own key behind when she'd dumped out her backpack and thrown some old clothes in it, trying to sell the marriage ruse to Brandi. It was shoved under her bed with all her school things; she hadn't thought she'd be coming back, and she'd seen no need to make it any easier for Mark to get to Brandi later on.

She entered through the back door and made her way through the house, realizing quickly enough that Jinx hadn't come home the night before. _Thank heaven for small favors, _she grumbled internally. She'd usually be inclined to wonder where her mother was, but right now, she didn't give a damn beyond the fact that Jinx's absence made her task easier.

Sitting on her mother's bed, she opened the bag and pulled out the bundled up shirt with her father's gun inside. Last night, when they'd arrived at Marshall's house, she'd stuck the weapon in her pants and brought it inside, and today, it was time to put it back where it belonged. First, though, she'd have to wipe it down. She distinctly remembered that Marshall had unloaded it when he'd taken it from her, and she did the same, carefully swiping every surface with the scarf it was usually kept in, retrieved from the bedroom floor. She made sure to wipe the ammunition too; no matter what might happen, she wasn't going to let Marshall be tied to what had happened by any meaningful evidence.

Careful not to touch the weapon directly once she was done, she slipped the bullets back in and snapped it shut. She rolled it up in the scarf again before she retrieved a chair from the kitchen and squirreled the gun away in its hiding place. With luck, Jinx would never notice it had been moved, and her visit to the house would go unnoticed, so no one would have reason to believe either she or Marshall had been in possession of the weapon the previous night. She was relatively certain it wouldn't come to that, but it was best to take precautions.

She'd called Brandi's friend's house before she'd left Marshall's, only to find that Brandi had been invited to stay another night. Mary smiled wryly; Brandi was completely capable of behaving herself under sufficiently dire circumstances and her friend's mother apparently believed she was sweet as sugar. One advantage to having a really messed up home life was that other people often couldn't imagine how bad it was, so it was easy to hide what was really going on. When Brandi had gone to stay with her friend, she'd told the mother that her mom was stuck somewhere and couldn't get home. While Mary held no illusions that people didn't know their mom was a drunk, she knew they would likely just presume that was all that was going on, and not bother asking too many questions. They certainly wouldn't think to ask if Mary had been kidnapped, and Brandi had the sense to keep her mouth shut.

Now that Brandi was assured of Mary's safety, she was eager to stay with her friend again, and when Jinx turned up she would probably be too drunk or hung-over to care, so Mary had given her permission. She didn't think Brandi needed to deal with Jinx in that state after what had happened, and she didn't want to either. Marshall had said his parents would be out of town until late Sunday, and Mary didn't think he'd mind if she stayed over again…

_Marshall. _Mary felt a blush rise to her cheeks. She had gone to sleep the night before thinking he would cut her loose first thing in the morning, and had she been less exhausted herself the thought might have kept her awake. Finding him there asleep that morning, however, had made clear the depth of his devotion. He didn't seem to be planning on walking away. She'd grown up vowing that she would never trust another man, and that belief had only been encouraged as she'd watched Jinx fumble through one failed relationship after another, but when she considered the events of the previous night…

She'd seen something in his eyes as he'd leveled the gun and steadied his shaking hands. It was for her; he was not so much ready to take a life as he was ready to do anything for her. She had never before seen that look in anyone's eyes, let alone directed at her. It was thrilling and terrifying at the same time. It was flattering to be sure, and it excited her, but it was also powerful in a way she didn't want. No one, and especially not Marshall, should be willing to throw away for her what he almost had, when her life would amount to nothing anyway. He was worth so much more than she felt she was herself, and the knowledge of his willingness to sacrifice made her afraid that she couldn't be trusted with such a responsibility. Moreover, she now owed him her life, and what was she supposed to do with that?

Nonetheless, though everything about that train of thought demanded that she run from him and spare him while his life was still largely intact, she felt instead a compulsion to return to him, so she zipped the backpack and made her way out of her house the same way she'd come in.

* * *

Marshall felt himself slipping back toward wakefulness, a sensation that left him feeling like a clam pried from its shell. His entire body seemed reluctant to wake up, and he was also sore, undoubtedly a leftover from the night's escapades. He scrunched his eyes shut even before he'd opened them, his heart beating heavily somewhere near his ankles and a nauseous feeling roiling in his stomach as the events of the night came crashing back to him.

His hand closed on his bedspread, the familiar texture in his grasp anchoring him to reality. Lifting his head and opening his eyes, he blinked as he looked around the room. He was sitting on the floor, he noted with confusion, leaning against the bed with the edge of his mattress wedged somewhat uncomfortably in his armpit… but his bed looked slept in. _Oh, right, _he recalled, _Mary slept here._

As if the thought of her had conjured it, he registered the presence a notebook next to his hand. He stared blearily at the mostly blank page where a note was hastily penned. _Taking care of something, back soon. I'll call to check on Brandi before I go. -M._ His brow furrowed as he flipped the notebook back to its cover, curious as to which one it was. His eyes widened; it was his math notebook, the one he figured Mary would never see. It was, more importantly, the one on which he'd doodled her name all over the cover and throughout the interior as well. He groaned as he thought of her reading all the senseless scrawls, accompanied by more hearts of varying degrees of artistry than he would care to admit. Obviously she'd chosen this particular notebook for a reason, but whether it was to pardon his secret indulgence or to poke fun and thereby condemn him, he had no idea.

He sat back against his nightstand, rubbing his hand over his face. Last night, he hadn't thought there was a way he could screw things up even more, but therein lay both the unfathomable beauty and the inexorable horror of the universe: things could _always _get worse.

As his mind tumbled over everything that had happened, he concluded that Mary had gone to hide the gun, since he hadn't seen it anywhere. He didn't want to think about what would happen if she got caught out with it. He didn't want to think what would happen if they got caught for any part of it.

* * *

Her hand hovered at the door, poised to knock, yet she hesitated. Maybe she was reading too much into Marshall's actions. Was it possible that what he had done for her, he would do for anyone? What if he was just that kind of person, some over-glorified boy scout who was out to get a merit badge for rescuing people? _And holding up would-be rapists at gunpoint, and burning down abandoned buildings? Get real, Mary, _her inner voice spoke up. _There's no way he'd do all that for just anybody. Stop trying to look for a reason to ignore this._

_But nothing can come of it, _a counterpoint voice chimed in. _He's going to leave, you'll be stuck here, and then what? He'll go on to college while you're stuck here with Jinx and Brandi like you always have been. And don't you dare delude yourself into thinking he'll stay for you. College, Mary! You can't compete with that! _

Mary growled low in her throat as she shook her head and tried to quell the voice of her doubts. She hated doubts, plagued by them as she had been for nearly the entirety of her remembered life. Every potential action brought up at least half dozen nagging thoughts of how it might lead to failure, and that number tended to increase dramatically with the importance of the decision involved. Then, even if she managed to set aside the usual worn-out worries, the events of the night had conjured up a whole new set of preoccupations.

Sucking in a breath and blowing it out hard, Mary rapped firmly on the door. She was tired after the night she'd had, just plain _tired, _and all she wanted was to enjoy Marshall's presence for the rest of the weekend without indulging those ever-present concerns.

He opened the door, wide-eyed and breathless and wearing a particularly geeky sweater that brought out his eyes, and for a split second she was thrown by how cute he looked, though obviously preoccupied himself. He grabbed her by the arm and drew her into the house so quickly that she almost stumbled; before she could snap out the _what the hell _that rose automatically to her lips, he was already explaining himself.

"Mary, you've got to see this. It's unbelievable," he rattled excitedly as he led her to the living room, where the TV was playing a news program. The nightmarish image of the burned-out bowling alley was splashed across the screen. "It came on just a few minutes ago, but… well, just watch."

She sat on the couch, no longer even listening to his directions as she focused on the screen. A reporter's voice spoke over the footage of the charred shell of the building.

"… it is believed no lives were lost in the fire. Again, our breaking story at the top of this news hour: the Bowl'n'Roll bowling alley burned almost completely to the ground last night. Three men were caught as they attempted to flee the scene; while sources say none of the men are speaking to police about the cause of the fire, it is believed they started the fire to destroy evidence of far more serious crimes. A car registered to one of the men, a Camaro, was found in the parking lot with incriminating evidence in the glove box, a series of Polaroid photos implicating all three suspects in a series of rapes that appear to have been committed inside the bowling alley itself. Victims are already beginning to come forward, and it seems clear to this reporter that silence will not save these criminals from conviction."

The scene shifted to an interview with the owner of the property on the scene.

"When I heard about the fire, I was upset," the rotund man stated, "but now that I know what was going on in there, I'm glad it burned to the ground. I don't want to own a place where such horrible acts were being committed."

"And now, back to studio," the reporter wrapped up as Marshall turned the volume down.

"Jesus," Mary breathed, staring blankly at the screen though she was no longer paying attention to it. The report had served to emphasize how close she'd come to disaster. "Well, it doesn't seem like anybody cares much about the fire. Even if those guys talk, it'll just look like they're trying to get out of the rape charges."

"That, and they won't be able to tell the police we were there without admitting they abducted you," Marshall added, feeling a small welling of confidence for the first time since the incident. "We really might be off the hook for this, Mare."

Mary nodded slowly, a faint smile turning up her lips at the corners. Maybe things were going to be alright after all.

* * *

Stars, constellations, the cosmos, infinity. Mary stared up into a heaven of glow-in-the-dark star stickers, some of which were arranged into constellations she actually recognized. The other formations, though unfamiliar to her, were doubtlessly arranged with the same degree of accuracy. The decals would have been more appropriate for the ceiling of a boy half Marshall's age, but she couldn't help but smile at the realization that the more she thought about it, the more it seemed like the kind of thing her friend would like. She was reasonably certain he hadn't thought he'd get a girl up here and therefore wouldn't have to worry about it; he'd almost gotten away with it, too, because she'd been too exhausted the previous night to notice much of anything before she fell asleep. As it was, she found the gently glowing stars to be pleasant and relaxing in their utter lack of guile.

Showered and wearing another borrowed t-shirt, she was once more warmly snuggled in Marshall's bed. She was glad to be there, in his room; she still wasn't ready to go back to the grind of dealing with her mother's problems. She listened to the hiss of the shower, faintly audible from the hall bathroom. She had only narrowly been rescued from the most horrible of violations, and her rescuer was only a few rooms away. _Wet and naked, too. _Mary pulled the blanket up over her nose, hiding a blush that wouldn't be visible in the dark even if someone else was there to see it. The water shut off, and her heart thudded for a few beats. After several long minutes, a pajama-clad Marshall padded down the hall and tapped on the open door with one knuckle.

"Hey," he spoke softly, "do you need anything before I get settled on the couch?"

Mary hesitated, her heart racing and her mouth suddenly dry. "Uh… water, I guess."

She cringed inwardly; it hadn't been what she wanted to say, wasn't even close. Marshall vanished from the doorway only to reappear moments later with a glass of water in his hand. He entered the room and set the glass on the nightstand. Mary reached out and caught his hand before he could leave. He looked at her searchingly in the faint light cast through the doorway from the hall and by the moonlight from the window.

"Do you need something else?" he asked quietly.

"You don't have to sleep downstairs if you don't want to," she murmured hurriedly. "Your bed's pretty big so I think there's room."

"Twin beds are a little small for me," he supplied, looking unconvinced.

"So the couch wouldn't be that comfortable, right?"

"Yeah… that's right," he admitted.

"So… get in." She pulled the covers back and tugged on his arm.

He leaned onto the bed with one knee, then hesitated and pulled back. His hand slid from her grip and he wordlessly moved into the hallway. Mary's heart sank as the light went off… but then he was back in the room and closing the door behind him. He approached the bed and slid under the covers beside her.

The space between them seemed to echo as they laid side by side, staring at the ceiling. Mary snuck a few sideways glances in Marshall's direction and found him looking contemplative and nervous. She knew that look, the one that told her his mind was racing at a mile a minute.

"Marshall?" she whispered softly into the silence. He angled his head toward her, meeting her gaze.

"Yeah, Mare?" his hushed voice came back with a nervous edge.

She rolled onto her side and slid closer to him, settling against his side. She rested her head on his shoulder as he automatically snugged his arm around her; her palm came to rest on his chest, over his now-pounding heart.

"Is this okay?" she asked, her eyes still locked on his.

"Yeah," Marshall answered. Her gaze was liquid, laced with some emotion he hadn't seen in her before and therefore couldn't recognize. His eyebrows raised as she lifted her head and pressed her lips lightly and quickly to his.

"Was _that_ okay?" she asked as she pulled back.

His brow furrowed as he considered her. "I don't understand, Mary… what… what exactly are you getting at?"

Mary sucked in a deep breath as she gathered her courage, finding it difficult to give voice to her desires.

"Marshall, I… um…" she replied hesitantly. "There was something else… that I wanted."

"Whatever you want, just tell me," he offered.

"Okay…" she murmured. "Marshall, I want you to sleep with me."

* * *

**A/N: Whoa, Mary, what are you doing? Oh, right, you're being you. Carry on!**

**Let me know what you think, and hang around for the next update, which will hopefully be sooner in coming than this one was! And... maybe a rating bump? How do we feel about this? Let me know! =)**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I don't own In Plain Sight, so don't sue me for that or any other reason, please! =P**

**Warning / Author's Note: The rating bump is at hand, and that is for sexual content. I truly appreciated all of your responses to the question, should they or shouldn't they, and each and every one of them had a factor in how this played out. What I've written here is not simply smut for the sake of smut; I hope there is much more depth to it than that. The teenage landscape is one fraught with peril and occasional lapses in judgment, and sex is a language of intimacy; I attempted to capture both of these concepts in this chapter. That said, I hope you enjoy it for what it is. I've been deliberately vague about whether Mary and Marshall are 17 or 18 at this point; an assumption of age-appropriateness for wherever you are is greatly appreciated. =)  
**

* * *

**Fish Out of Water**

**Chapter 15**

"What?" Marshall said blankly. The myriad thoughts that had been bouncing around in his head since he'd climbed into bed beside Mary, hell, since she'd told him she wanted to spend the night again, ground to a halt in an instant. He tried to sort out what she'd just said to him but his brain was only delivering white noise.

"I said, I want you to sleep with me," Mary replied quietly.

"I thought that's what we were already doing," he stalled lamely as he struggled to process.

"Don't give me that," she murmured. "You know what I meant."

Marshall stared at the ceiling, at the numerous little stuck-on constellations glowing above him. All he could think in that moment was how stupid Mary probably thought they were. He knew it wasn't the right thought for the occasion, that there were certainly things of far more pressing importance that demanded his attention, but all he could focus on were those damned glow-in-the-dark stars.

"Why?" he finally asked after he cleared his throat, tearing his gaze from the ceiling to look at her again.

"What do you mean, 'why'? You're a guy. Do you even need a reason?" she asked incredulously.

"After everything that happened last night… yes," he replied.

"So, what? I almost get raped and suddenly I can't decide anything for myself?" she snapped defensively, stifling a sense of panic that rose in her as she felt rejection was imminent.

Marshall flinched slightly at the violence of the word as she uttered it; it brought to mind the reality of what had almost happened to her, a fate only narrowly avoided, the escape from which had been too close for comfort.

"I need to understand why you want this," he whispered, "and why you want this now, and why you want this from me."

Mary hesitated, drawing in a nervous breath. This was more explanation than she had counted on. She had expected that he would just go along with it. From what she'd seen of men, at least the men Jinx had been with, she had simply assumed they were all willing to have sex at the drop of a hat. Marshall's questions threw her off guard, and certainly, she didn't want to have to explain her motivations to him. She didn't even want to explain her motivations to herself.

"Talk to me, Mary," he prodded gently.

"I don't want someone else to decide for me," she replied, the words coming slowly. "That asshole Mark… those men… they would have been my first. I mean, I've never… you know."

Marshall's eyebrows rose in surprise. He had been under the impression that she'd had sex before; she'd certainly been amused enough to learn that he hadn't. Apparently that was just one more layer in the defensive front she put up to the world, part of her tough-girl image, and she sold it so well that no one questioned it… _including me, _Marshall thought with a faint pang of guilt. As much as he cared for her, he realized he'd bought into that interpretation of her nature because of her background.

"I know, it's weird, right?" she responded to his disbelieving look. "That a girl like me with a mom like mine isn't a total slut? I mean, I've done _some _things with guys, but… not that."

"I didn't think you were a slut," he corrected. "I just didn't think you were a… you know." A blush that had begun to suggest itself already now blazed across his face.

"You can't even say 'virgin' without blushing? That's so _you_," she scoffed, feeling a little more at ease. She was starting to sense that he wasn't rejecting her outright, but was acting more out of concern for her.

Marshall's blush deepened as he mumbled his reply. "I can say it… it's just… weird."

"Your parents never talk about sex?" she asked.

"God, no. Not to me, anyway… though I did overhear something really disturbing about a hot tub when they were leaving yesterday." Had that been only yesterday? It seemed like a lifetime ago.

"Huh," she nodded thoughtfully. "It makes sense. You sorta lose that sensitivity after the first time you've walked in on your mom and some guy on the kitchen table."

"Ugh," he grunted in disgust at the mental image. "Thanks for sharing that."

They laid together in silence for a few minutes more before Mary spoke up again. "I just didn't want to be like her, you know? And last night… I mean, it would have been horrible either way, but all I could think was that whoever it was that went first, that was that. It would always be that guy, and there wouldn't be anything I could do about it."

Marshall's arm tightened around her, pulling her closer against his side. His jaw was set, tense with anger as he thought about the men who had intended to hurt her. He almost regretted not having shot at least one of them; the thought occurred to him that if he'd arrived any later, while it was happening or after the fact, he wouldn't have been able to hold back like he had.

"Can you even imagine, if someone asked me who my first was, what kind of bullshit I'd have to make up?" she laughed humorlessly. "I'd never be able to tell the truth about that, not without other people's pity and judgment. Either they'd treat me like some helpless victim, or they'd take one look at me and my family and they'd assume I did something to deserve it."

"You could never deserve it," he said forcefully. "No one deserves that. Don't even think it."

"When you showed up, and saved me, it was like…" she trailed off, trying to order her feelings into words. "It was like suddenly having the chance to make that choice for myself seemed so important. And the reality is that I could get that choice taken away again and… I don't want to risk that."

"Mary…" Marshall rolled to face her. "There will be time. You don't have to decide this right now. You'll have the same choices tomorrow, or a week after that, as you do right now. You don't have to make this decision as if you're going to be in danger of losing your choices every single day."

"It's not just that," she whispered. "When school ends, you'll be gone… we don't have forever. We only have right now. You're my best friend and the only guy who's ever really cared. I could do worse than my best friend… a lot worse. It has to be you." _And then, I'll always have that, even when you're gone, _she added silently.

"I don't have to leave," he murmured earnestly. "I can go to college here and stay with you."

"No, you can't. I don't know when, or if, I'll want a relationship with a guy. I've always had my hands way too full with Brandi and Jinx. I can't be your girlfriend right now and you can't stay here for me. But we can have this."

"It'll always be ours," he whispered, his voice shaking slightly. "Mary, I don't have condoms or anything. I didn't think this would happen."

She rolled away, leaning over the side of the bed and digging through the bag she'd packed at home. When she rolled back to face him, she held a square wrapper in her hand.

"I stole some from Jinx," she declared, an almost prideful smirk on her face.

"Won't she notice?" he asked, eyeing the purloined rubber nervously.

"You've seen how drunk she gets," Mary scoffed. "She'll think she screwed a guy while she was drunk and forgot about it. She worries less about missing condoms and more if she gets blackout drunk and ends up with the same amount."

"Okay…"

"You know, you don't have to do this if you don't want to," she spoke hesitantly, offering him an out if he was looking for one. "It's okay if you don't want to."

She began to pull back, but Marshall gripped her wrist gently, her skin warm against his fingers. "No…" he whispered, drawing her back to him. "I want this, too."

* * *

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew it might not be the best idea. It was probably a downright bad one. Sex complicated things, or so he'd always heard, and in his head his parents' voices chimed in, demanding to have their say: _When you've met a nice girl and you want to spend the rest of your life with her, when you're married, when you want children, _his mother chirped dreamily, enraptured in her own plans for his eventual marriage and production of grandchildren… _If you even think of doing it without a ring, it's your ass, _his father added sternly. He wasn't completely certain either of those conversations had ever actually happened, but his parents were definitely thinking it. How could they not?

His mother had started planning her grand ambitions for him from the moment just after his birth when she'd first looked into his eyes, sweet, baby-blue eyes in which she never in her wildest imaginings expected to see a trace of defiance. That illusion had begun to crumble at the moment he'd stated, with the unbridled enthusiasm of childhood, that he wanted to be a marshal just like Daddy, the clumsy crayon drawing in his hands proof that her ambitions for him would one day be so much dishwater down the drain; and yet, she had persisted, forcing her dreams down his throat. _College, perhaps Cornell; a career, hopefully in some enriching, fulfilling field like teaching; marriage, and a family; your potential, Marshall, never, ever forget your potential…_

And Seth, dear God. A childhood of contrast and compare, _do better, try harder, and for God's sake keep your mother happy_; a lifetime of _you're too soft, you're not good enough, not for this_; and ever-present, the undertone of _step out of line even once, and earn my disapproval and my wrath_. And Marshall had walked that line, had tried to be perfect, had struggled to gain the approval of the man who was all that he desperately wanted to be. A childhood of _stay, Daddy, play with me, please, I love you, _and ever a retreating back in a business suit, because there was always a fugitive to apprehend, somewhere; and somewhere, in the back of his mind, Marshall wondered if he would be lost in his father's footsteps for all of his life, his own small child's-shadow vanished in the shadow of the man as he walked away.

And tonight, nothing was the same. A scant twenty-four hours ago he'd held three men at gunpoint, _holy shit, I really did that, _and he wasn't the same person he'd been before. He was off the rails, in uncharted waters, and apparently in no condition to keep a metaphor straight, either. And she was with him in this unexplored territory, the girl who had started it all, the girl who smoked in the bathroom and wore ill-fitting clothes, who raised her own sister and whose drunk mother couldn't even manage to be a mother to save anyone's life; this girl, who hung by a thread every day of her life and who brought her troubles to his doorstep without meaning to or wanting to… Marriage, children, he didn't know about that, but he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, to be by her side always, in whatever capacity she would allow, and now she was asking him to give her that one thing that was solely his to give, only he realized with sudden, undeniable certainty that it was his to give no longer, but hers to take, and had been since he knew not when.

And if they were separated, what then? She was right; if that happened, they would always have this. This couldn't be taken back. This would always be theirs, and his parents and her mother be damned along with the entire world that didn't want to give them a chance. _Like Romeo and Juliet, _his mind added pedantically, _how appropriate. They had that, at least, before the end. _True enough, that scene was a consolation prize if ever there was one.

And then time was catching up, a few moments' contemplations halted by her lips working clumsily at his throat, the sensation traveling swiftly to his groin, already well-suffused with lust, and he gasped softly as hands, fairly large for a girl, and strong, slipped under his shirt and fumbled nervously over his chest. His hands were on her waist and she was straddling his hips - _when had that happened? - _and the heat of her body against his flesh, straining hard at the cloth of his pajama pants, threatened to undo him. As if sensing the subject of his thoughts, she rolled her hips and a groan escaped his throat as he tightened his grip and stilled her movements.

She leaned back, her eyes filled with anxious want, and pulled the shirt she'd borrowed over her head. Moonlight from the window cascaded over her body, defining her taut belly, the full rounds of her breasts, the peaks of her nipples, and the hollow of her throat, and back to the eyes, her eyes which held him spellbound…

His shirt was gone before he'd consciously thought to remove it and he sat up, hands sliding up her back as he kissed her in the moonlight. Her tongue caressed his and her skin was warm against his bare chest in the chill of the night; one hand found its place between her shoulder blades and pressed her to him as the other knotted in her hair, tilting her head back and exposing her throat to his lips. It was instinct that was driving him now, some primal urge that had him lapping and sucking at her neck as she moaned and writhed against him, because all he could think was how beautiful she was, and that he wanted her.

She arced back as his lips moved lower, bringing her breasts within reach, and he obliged her unspoken request; his mouth captured the stiffened bud of her nipple and he sucked delicately, at first, and then with increasing pressure as her breathless cries spurred him on. She ground against his firm length, tantalizingly, frustratingly, as his head dipped to her other breast; as his lips and tongue repeated their actions on the second pebble-hard peak, her entire body tensed and she thrust against him more firmly. Her cries were replaced by a strangled groan, and as she shuddered against him, he realized with a shock that she was coming. He held her tightly, gently working her nipple in his mouth as her thrusts against him slowed, until she finally pulled his head away.

His gaze met hers; the need in her eyes matched the dull ache in his cock, and in his heart. He wanted her, needed her, _loved _her with all that he was, and he would give her anything. Pajama bottoms and undergarments were abandoned and in a heartbeat he found himself nestled between her thighs, her hand at the back of his neck pulling him down on top of her. She trembled slightly, nervous like he was, but she kissed him, determined to press on. Her legs wrapped around his and urged him forward, and he submitted to her, the condom left on the nightstand beside the bed, forgotten now that the moment was at hand.

There was resistance; he'd heard about it, of course, but nothing really prepared him for the experience. Her tightness was unbearable at first, almost painful, and as he pressed forward, oh so slowly, he felt her begin to come apart around him. She whimpered, her voice sharp with discomfort, and he stopped, filled with concern. He whispered soft words in her ear, that they didn't have to do this, but she shook her head, her voice quavering slightly as she told him to keep going. He held her tightly as he pushed further, pausing now and again to let her adjust, and as a tear slipped from the corner of her eye he stroked her hair and kissed it away.

At last he filled her completely, and there he waited for her to catch up, to signal him to continue, and she did; he set a slow pace, and after a time Mary found that it hurt less, though still a little, but it was beginning to feel a little bit good as well. It built, a little more and a little more, until eventually the good feeling began to drown out the pain. Marshall was surprised when she began to move with him, her hips encouraging him to set a faster pace. He gave himself over to her, allowing the sensation of being inside her to overwhelm him, able to throw himself into the experience now that she was enjoying it too.

Her cries filled his ears and he felt his release building, a coiling tightness in his guts and in his loins, and suddenly she was there with him, that guttural moan issuing from her throat once more as she tightened around him. The tension building in him broke over him like a wave, and he spilled into her with a cry of his own.

He collapsed on top of her, breathing hard and feeling emotionally raw, stripped bare and vulnerable. She was his world; she was his everything, and he needed her like air to breathe. He held her, both of them trembling, and remained inside of her until he was no longer physically able. He whispered her name, _Mary, Mary, Mary, _knowing he couldn't say _I love you _because that would be more than she could take. His breath shuddered; he was so overwhelmed that tears threatened, and when she breathed his name in return, _Marshall, _he pressed his face to the pillow as they broke from him.

She held him, they held each other, and together, after a time, naked before the world, they slept.

* * *

Reality came crashing back a few heartbeats after Marshall slipped back into wakefulness. He rolled over and found the bed empty, save for himself and a dark-colored towel that he hadn't remembered putting down the night before, though it had apparently been a sound idea because there was blood, not a large amount but more than he'd expected. He looked around, panicked; she might have bolted after all, and _oh God, _there was a note. He snatched it up, hands trembling as he read it, and he let out a breath. It wasn't a note saying _so long, I hope I never see you again _as he had feared it would be; rather, it simply explained why she wasn't there.

_Marshall,_

_I'm sorry about leaving while you were asleep, but you were exhausted and I didn't want to wake you up. I have to go get Brandi and you know it won't be a good thing if I'm still there when your parents come home. I hope you wake up before they get there because it's going to be really awkward if you don't. I set your alarm just in case. See you at school tomorrow._

_- Mary_

_P.S. - Wash the sheets and the towel in cold water and they should be fine._

Marshall smiled faintly; it wasn't quite an endearment in conventional terms, but he had a feeling that the fact she'd left a note at all, and wanted to see him again, was as close as Mary could come to one at present. He started when his alarm went off; he'd woken up right on time, it seemed, and she'd allowed enough time for him to get everything back in order before his parents arrived.

As he reached for the alarm clock, his hand brushed something unfamiliar on his nightstand. His brow furrowed as he grasped at the object; he realized what it was as he lifted it up to see. Sure enough, there it was in his fingers: the condom, still in its wrapper, unused. He stared at it in horror, his alarm clock blaring insistently at the edge of his consciousness.

_Fuck._

He pressed his palms to his face before running his fingers through his hair and causing it to stick up at odd angles, still holding the condom between a forefinger and a thumb. He looked at the offending object again.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

He shot a glare at his obnoxiously nagging alarm clock, slapping at the off button as he gave voice to the curse that was repeating itself in his head.

"Fuck!" he shouted, giving the alarm clock an extra smack and sending it clattering to the floor.

He was an idiot, he decided, because who but a world-class idiot would sleep with his best friend and forget to use a condom, _particularly _after having made a point of having one out and ready in the first place?

"Damn it all," he muttered as he fumbled for his boxers and pulled them on. The least he could do, for the moment, was avoid getting caught by his parents; he stripped the bed down and lugged the wadded up sheets and towel to the laundry room.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I don't own IPS, or much of anything else!**

**Author's Note: I wouldn't leave you hanging that long, would I? Would I, really? Read on! =)**

* * *

**Fish Out of Water**

**Chapter 16**

Marshall stood on Mary's doorstep, his heart in his throat. He held a bouquet of flowers in a clammy hand, daisies, because Mary would find anything else too girly or too expensive. They were a non-threatening flower, with a sort of _hey, how are you _vibe, rather than a commitment-heavy flower like roses. He felt now that flowers had been a stupid idea. There was no card; the flower stand didn't carry cards that said _Sorry I might have gotten you pregnant. _As if anyone did.

The fact was, they needed to talk. It had been weeks of this; knowing the conversation needed to be had, but not knowing how to bring it up, and all the while, a front of maintaining the status quo. There wasn't tension, not the way he'd thought there would be. It wasn't forced or awkward. It just was. He knew they should be talking about it and instead they talked about anything but, and he didn't know what to say, and she didn't seem to want it to be said.

The more time wore on, the more he tied himself up in knots thinking about it. In one weekend, he might have just as well signed his entire life away. There were his parents to think about; his mother would be devastated, his father, furious, and this kind of thing just didn't happen in his family. They would blame him, but they would also blame Mary. The things they would think of her, he wouldn't be able to forgive. And what of Mary, anyway? He didn't really know where he stood with her, either. He loved her, that hadn't changed; she was his best friend, and his lover for that one time, but that hadn't happened again for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was the possibility that she might be carrying his baby.

A _baby, _for the love of God. That was what had brought him here today, after all. It couldn't be ignored any longer. Brandi had come alone for the walk to school, and had told him her sister was staying home sick, something wrong with her stomach. His heart had almost stopped right there. The elephant in the room had been suddenly staring him in the face. So he'd walked Brandi to school like everything was perfectly normal, and then he'd ditched his own classes to go see Mary. Well… first he'd loitered anxiously, then he'd bought flowers in the vain hope that the social nicety would bring some element of normalcy to any of this, which of course it hadn't, and then he'd walked to her house as slowly as possible, dread gnawing in his belly like a wounded animal.

He had no idea what was going to happen, or even what he wanted to happen. She could be pregnant, or not, and if she was, she could have it, or not, and if she had it, he could be there… or not. It wasn't that he didn't want to be there. It was that he wasn't sure she would let him. He was fairly certain she'd view one life down the drain as sufficient, and would refuse to allow him to sacrifice his own future, and Mary had a way of forcing the issue when she was set on something. In some small corner of his heart he almost wanted that decision to somehow be out of his hands, and that one thing, he hated more than anything else about this, that there was a cowardly part of him that didn't want the responsibility, a part of him that was terrified of being a father.

The fact was, he could never walk away, not from her, and not from a child that was his; no matter how afraid he was, no matter what his parents had to say, no matter how hard Mary herself tried to push him away and no matter what he had to give up, he would be there. And here he was. He ran a hand nervously through his hair, the hand not holding the flowers, and knocked on the door. After a moment, he heard movement within, and another moment later the door opened.

Mary looked tired; dark circles under her eyes stood in stark relief against the paleness of her face, and her shoulders slumped with exhaustion. She didn't look like she was dying or anything, but she'd clearly had a rough night. She eyed him dubiously, obviously surprised at his presence, and of course she still tended to believe that surprises didn't mean anything good. He was starting to understand where that belief was coming from.

"What're you doing here?" she asked, her voice gruff.

"Did I wake you?" he came back, his tone one of apology as he realized she'd probably gone back to bed after Brandi left. She was dressed in a rather worn pair of plaid pajama bottoms and an oversized sweatshirt, and her hair was a mess, the very portrait of someone who'd just rolled out of bed, except for the evident lack of sleep, which she'd probably been trying to correct.

"Tried to doze off on the couch," she shrugged. "Wasn't really working that well."

"Oh. Well, I'm sorry I interrupted…" he hedged.

"What're the flowers for?" she asked in confusion.

Marshall looked at the flowers in his hand. He'd forgotten he was even holding them when she'd opened the door.

"They're for you," he offered them awkwardly.

Mary wrinkled her nose. "Um… why?"

"When I walked Brandi to school, she said you were home sick, so…" he shrugged, not knowing how to continue.

"So? You never brought me flowers before," she replied skeptically.

"Well… this is different," he said quietly. "I think it's time we talked about it."

"Why the hell would we need to talk about it?" she snapped incredulously. "What makes you think it's any of your business?"

"How can you say that? Of course it's my business!" his heated reply came out as almost a shout.

"Jesus!" she hissed. "Don't start screaming on my porch! It's bad enough the number of times that's happened because of Jinx, I won't have it starting with me too."

"This involves me whether you like it or not," he replied, making an effort to lower his voice.

"I still don't see how, but whatever. Just shut up and come inside already."

She opened the door wider to admit him, glancing nervously around for curious neighbors as she let him pass. The couch was covered in what appeared to be some kind of blanket cocoon; it looked like she'd been nesting there for some time, probably the entire night. The TV babbled quietly, the reception poor via antenna, but he recognized what she was watching; Sesame Street, of all things. His stomach flipped unpleasantly. Did she really have to be watching children's programming right now, of all times? Or was this some kind of effort to prepare herself for motherhood?

Closing the door, Mary turned to face her friend, arms folded nervously across her chest. She still didn't understand why he was there, and he wasn't exactly making himself clear. Brandi must have told him _something _more than the simple fact that she was home sick, because it wasn't all that unusual for someone to stay out for a day or two in the middle of March. People got colds or the flu. True, that wasn't what was going on with her, but he couldn't know that… unless he'd been told.

"So what was it Brandi said that had you coming over here with those stupid flowers?" she asked bluntly. Marshall looked taken aback by her directness. _How typical, _she grumbled to herself.

"She said you weren't feeling well, um… you know," he mumbled, the color draining from his face just a little as he gestured toward her abdomen.

"Oh, my God. She told you about _that_?" Mary's eyes widened. "Oh, that little brat! She just couldn't keep her mouth shut, could she?" Her hands balled up in frustration and she pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes.

"Why should she keep it from me?" he snapped back, her attitude filling him with disbelief. "Why should she even know, when I don't?"

"She's my _sister, _Marshall, of course she knows about it. And why the hell would I tell you? Why do you even _care_?"

"So you just weren't going to tell me? You didn't think I had a right to know?" his tone shifted from disbelief to anger.

"Of course you don't have a right to know! It's not something I'd go around telling people about, you or anyone else! It's embarrassing!"

"Embarrassing? There are several terms that could apply here, but embarrassing? Try life-altering, or disastrous, or… you know, _anything _that makes it sound like this even matters to you!"

"_Disastrous_?" Mary's jaw dropped. "Jesus, Marshall, it's just a period, not one of the fucking plagues of Egypt!"

Marshall blinked slowly, staring at her as her words registered.

"… Period?" he asked hesitantly.

"Would you prefer a clever euphemism, like, 'Aunt Flo has come for a visit'?"

Marshall glanced down at the floor as his face blushed furiously pink.

"So you're not…" he mumbled softly.

"I'm not what?" Mary pressed, her patience wearing thin. He glanced back up at her anxiously.

"When Brandi said you were sick at your stomach, I thought she meant… I mean, I thought it might be morning sickness."

She stared at him, unable for a moment to respond while her brain caught up to his train of thought.

"I have _cramps, _Marshall. I'm not actually _sick_."

"Oh…" he murmured. He fell silent, trying to sort out what he was feeling. He was relieved, yes, and still somewhat in disbelief, but also strangely disappointed.

"So… you thought I was pregnant?" she asked as she finally put everything together.

"Well, I… I mean, we… you know… and we forgot the condom… and then Brandi said… and I thought…" he spluttered distractedly, "… well… why are you watching Sesame Street?"

"The antenna's crappy and it's a weekday morning. It was all I could get and it's a good distraction," she replied. "I only have to pay attention to each thing that happens for like a minute."

Marshall nodded, finally accepting that Mary wasn't pregnant after all.

"Why?" she asked with a smirk. "Did you think I was watching it for the baby or something?" His embarrassed blush and averted eyes were all the answer she needed.

"Sit down and I'll make you an English muffin. I shopped a few days ago, so there's actually food this time," she offered. As he settled on the couch, she grunted and rubbed low on her belly. "On second thought, you do it. I'm gonna sit down. Make me one, too. And put those flowers in water before they die."

* * *

"Which one do you like best?" she asked lazily as she laid on the couch, her head in Marshall's lap.

"Kermit the Frog," he replied, one hand draped over her shoulder and the other idly stroking fingers through her hair.

"He's not on Sesame Street," she scoffed, swatting his leg.

"He is sometimes," Marshall protested.

"Be serious. We're talking about full-time Sesame Street Muppets here."

"Fine," he paused, thinking. "Bert and Ernie."

"That's two."

"But they're Bert and Ernie."

"So?"

"You can't have one without the other."

Mary thought for a moment and shrugged, making a small noise of agreement.

"Who do you like best?" he turned the question back on her.

"That crazy little blue one that's secretly a super hero."

"Grover?"

"Yeah," Mary grinned. "He's like, out of his furry little mind."

"My dad thinks he's on drugs."

Mary laughed. "Your dad thinks _everyone's _on drugs."

Marshall laughed with her. It felt good to relax with her now that the thought of parenthood was no longer looming over them. They watched the television screen quietly for a while before Mary spoke again.

"What would you have done if I'd turned out to be… you know?"

Marshall glanced down at her. "I don't really know. I was thinking about it a lot, but I don't think I really decided anything except…" he trailed off.

"Except what?" she prompted.

"I'd want to be there," he murmured. "For you, for the baby. I couldn't have walked out on that."

"Were you scared?" she asked softly.

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Were you?"

"I was nervous. I mean, when I realized we didn't use the condom, I started to freak out a little. That was part of why I left before you woke up. There was already so much going on and I didn't want to have to talk about it right then. And I was worried about being pregnant, too, but then I didn't want to talk about it until I knew one way or another," she paused. "What about you?"

"I knew we had to talk about it, but I was waiting for you to bring it up, and I kept trying not to think about it too much, but it's not that easy to put something like that out of mind. And today, when I thought you were… yeah, I was scared," he admitted. "It felt like my life was changing faster than I could keep up."

Her hand slipped up and interlaced fingers with his hand where it rested on her arm. She gave a gentle squeeze and he squeezed back.

"While I was waiting," she continued, "all I could think about was that I was going to end up like my mom, having a kid way too young and all."

"Speaking of your mother, where is she?" Marshall glanced around nervously as though by mentioning her, he might inadvertently cause her to appear.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you, she got a job. She's waiting tables at a bar and grill."

Marshall's eyebrows shot toward his hairline again. "Really?"

"Don't get too excited about it," she cautioned. "It'll all come crashing down as soon as she's done screwing her boss. But at least it'll keep rent paid for a month or two."

The pair lapsed into silence again. He kept playing with her hair as they watched TV, and Sesame Street gave way to Mister Rogers' Neighborhood. Mary felt her eyelids starting to grow heavy, and just as she was dozing off, Marshall's voice drifted through the fog.

"You wouldn't have ended up like your mother," he spoke softly. "I wouldn't have let that happen."

The corner of Mary's mouth twitched up in a faint smile. She wouldn't have allowed him to give up his chance at a real life for her, but it felt good to know that he would want to. She snuggled closer against him, finally feeling comfortable enough to let her eyes fall shut and sleep.

Marshall watched her as she slept. She was gorgeous even when she was exhausted and unkempt. His fingers left her hair and brushed over her cheekbone. He knew they'd dodged a bullet, that it was only by sheer dumb luck that she hadn't gotten pregnant that night, weeks before, that the course of their lives could have been irrevocably altered. They had been through so much, had tempted fate too many times; though he'd never meant to be so reckless, something about her brought out that side of him. Maybe it was a lack of experience. Maybe an older version of himself would have had more control and better sense. But what was done, was done, and there was no going back.

Though she wasn't pregnant, he still felt himself bound to her. It was possible, he reflected, that he hadn't escaped fate after all. Plans would have to change, there was no avoiding that now; for better or worse, he couldn't leave her. Although he knew a child was the most ill-advised idea possible at that particular time, a part of him harbored regrets. For all that he had been terrified of the idea, there was a part of him that had liked it as well. That part of him had felt that, perhaps, there were worse things than being bound to this woman he loved, in a concrete way that no one could have denied, and that to have made something that was of her and of himself would have been beautiful, no matter how bad of an idea it was.

"I love you, Mary Shannon," he whispered, giving voice to the feeling that lay at the center of his tangled thoughts, knowing that in her sleep, she wouldn't hear him.

* * *

**A/N: I love Marshall when he's jumping to conclusions. I really, really do. =P  
**

**Thank you to my readers for reading, and thanks also for all the wonderful reviews! Let me know what you think, and stick around for next time! =)**


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I don't own IPS or the characters, and I have no money, so don't sue me, okay?**

**Author's Note: After a horrible month of writer's block brought on by heat waves and the show being in hiatus, Fish Out of Water is back! Sorry for the long wait, you guys. The creative process just wasn't happening. The good news is that the dam has finally broken, and I now have three chapters in addition to this one written, so there will be regular updates after this! Also, the following chapters are much more interesting than this mostly introspective/transitional one, but I hope you find this one entertaining nonetheless!**

**Dedication: I don't usually do this, but seeing as it's been so long since my last update, this chapter is dedicated to everyone who's still reading this! Thanks, y'all! =D**

* * *

**Fish Out of Water**

**Chapter 17**

April brought with it the start of the rainy season, which was now manifesting itself in a thick, chilly drizzle. The air had begun to warm with the coming of spring, but there was still the occasional cold snap and the mornings retained the wintry chill that continued to prevail at night.

The moisture beaded on Marshall's hair and on the surface of his heavy coat, not yet retired to the closet to await winter's return. His umbrella sat in the stand in the foyer back at his house, forgotten in his haste to leave; his alarm clock had been hit or miss since he'd knocked it to the floor, and this morning it had finally quit working altogether. He'd woken up barely in time to throw on clothes and rush out the door. He'd be too late to meet up with Mary and Brandi, but it couldn't be helped.

He and Mary still hadn't talked about a relationship. He had no idea where he stood with her on that front. No, that wasn't quite true; she'd been perfectly clear that she couldn't be his girlfriend… but did that mean she didn't want him as a boyfriend? It was a narrow distinction, but one that plagued him. Did she truly not want a relationship with him, or was she only refusing to want that which she believed she couldn't have?

On the other hand, he couldn't honestly tell her she could have him, even if she wanted him. He wanted to be with her, but it was complicated. There was college to be considered; if he stayed for her, his parents would undoubtedly go ballistic. A more appealing solution would be for Mary to leave with him, but that was a decision she would have to make for herself, and there was Brandi to be considered. Mary would never leave her sister, and Marshall had begun to find the idea of leaving the girl in her mother's questionable care unpalatable as well.

He'd been turning the problem over in his mind for some time, and he'd concluded that where Mary went, Brandi had to follow. That raised a whole new set of issues regarding legal custody. Marshall was reasonably certain Jinx wouldn't give up her daughter unless she had to, and there were quite a few things he could report her for that would fulfill that circumstance, but the problem with any such plan was that it would just as likely get Brandi taken from Mary as well, and Mary would not sell her mother out so readily in any case. He liked that about her; for as jaded as she was, for as emotionally distant as she needed to pretend to be, Mary could be extremely loyal when she really cared about someone.

Marshall sighed. It was certainly a dilemma, and one with no easy or obvious solutions. The truth was, he wasn't certain he could leave without Mary, even if he chose to do so. He had no doubt now that he loved her; he'd known for some time that he cared for her, but from the moment they'd made love, his heart had been hers. The pregnancy scare had served to confirm his feelings, for although he'd been terrified, he'd also realized that had she been pregnant, he would have wanted to have a family with her. Part of him regretted that she hadn't been. Though he was in no way prepared for fatherhood, and the very idea of starting a family at this point in his life was somewhat senseless and reckless in the extreme, it would at least have made his current dilemma that much easier to sort out. Leaving simply wouldn't be an option.

He wanted to be with her. He wanted her in other ways, too; he'd always considered himself somewhat average for a teenage male as his desires went, but after he'd been with her on a physical level, he'd concluded that he simply hadn't known what he was talking about. He had once thought that he didn't see what all the fuss was about, but since their night together, his need for her had increased by a margin he had failed to anticipate. Outwardly, he tried to maintain the same passive front, but inwardly, he was in turmoil over her.

He hadn't been prepared in the slightest for what the act of physical love would do to him, and he had no idea what do about it. Certainly, it was risky to approach Mary on that subject. She was still Mary, shy of commitment and ready to bolt, and that wouldn't change just because they'd had sex. If anything, it would only make her more reluctant to allow herself to be vulnerable around him. A delicate balance of proximity and distance had to be constantly maintained. As it was, she had been hitting him with a confusing blend of affection and deflection that made it difficult to gauge what she wanted from him. He felt as though he was hanging in limbo, unable either to move forward or go back, and always fearful of losing her.

And suddenly, there she was, waiting for him at the corner of the street that led to Brandi's school. Marshall stopped short for a moment.

"You're going to be late," he called to her.

"Yeah, I am, if a certain beanpole I know doesn't get it in gear," she replied with a grin.

"You didn't have to wait for me," he said as she fell into step beside him.

"I know," she said quietly as she linked her arm though his.

* * *

A thick, gray drizzle fell around Mary as she waited. Marshall was late; unlike him, but she wasn't worried, yet. She was too preoccupied with other matters.

She was falling in love with him.

She had already fallen in love with him.

She had tried to write it off, at first, as some kind of silly hero-worship sort of thing after he'd saved her, or an aftereffect of having sex, but she couldn't wholly justify dismissing it as that, for one simple reason: she had been feeling this for much longer than that, but had been unable, or perhaps unwilling, to give it a name.

She remembered a moment, vague and intangible as she'd hovered on the borders of sleep, when she'd heard a voice, his, low and soft and secret, murmuring his love for her. She was not entirely sure it had actually happened, was not certain he had really spoken those words, but she could no longer deny the fact that she might have liked it if he had. On the other hand, that would mean acknowledging more than she could afford to lose. Maybe some things were better left uncertain.

Because she would lose him, she knew that. It was inescapable. He had a life beyond her, so far beyond that reaching for him was like reaching for stars in the night sky; no matter how much yearning they inspired, an outstretched hand would never and could never reach them. Nothing could change that. That knowledge left her with a sick knot of sorrow which she could do nothing to ease. She had thought she'd accepted the limitations of her life a long time ago, but she had not anticipated encountering this new, foolish desire for more than she could ever hope to have.

Like water cupped in her hand which would escape if she did not drink, but to drink would leave her thirsting for more, and she had no desire to taste what she could not have.

Except that, too, was a lie; she wanted Marshall badly. She wanted to say words that would make him stay.

But such words could not be spoken, not by her. Those words would never come.

Suddenly, Marshall was there, stopping a scant distance from her. He called out something by way of greeting; she fired back a retort and smiled a smile she did not feel, hoping he wouldn't notice it was false.

* * *

The morning's drizzle had developed into a heavy, oppressive rain by lunchtime. After sheltering out of the rain in their bathroom, sharing Marshall's sandwich because someone at Mary's house had forgotten to shop for food and there had only been lunch for Brandi, they made their way to English class. It was long and boring, and Mr. Brunswick was apparently not a fan of rainy days, because he once again made it his mission to single them out for the class's collective amusement as well as his own.

Omnipresent, too, were reminders of prom, ranging from posters made by the prom committee to advertise the impending affair to Mr. Brunswick asking Marshall, for the entire class to hear, if he'd asked his Juliet to attend with him.

"God, he's such an asshole," Mary grumbled for only Marshall to hear.

"Yeah…" he hesitated. "You know, Mare…"

"What? Just spit it out already."

"Well, it's prom. We should go."

"What, you mean, together?" she asked, glaring at him dubiously.

"It's kind of pathetic to go alone," he replied. "And it isn't like there's anyone else I'd want to take."

"So I'm your date by default?"

"Not really. You'd be my date by choice."

Mary blushed and bit her fingernails, a habit that had become pervasive since she'd quit smoking.

"It could be fun. It's like a rite of passage, anyway," he added.

"If I agree to go, will you promise not to tell me about the cultural importance of rites of passage again?"

"Deal. So you'll go with me?" he asked hopefully.

She considered him for a moment. "Only because it's you, and you're pathetic enough to go stag otherwise," she huffed.

Marshall couldn't help the grin that spread across his face; however sarcastically she'd chosen to articulate the sentiment, she'd still said yes. It was a step in the right direction, and just maybe, a chance to see what was there between them, and to show her what he had to offer.

The bell rang, finally, and as they left class, Mary couldn't help but wonder what she'd just gotten herself into. No, that wasn't right either; she knew that whatever she'd gotten into had been set in motion months ago, from the first moment she'd allowed herself to open up to Marshall, to lean on him. She still didn't know what was different about him that had made it possible to lower her defenses, only that he was different, that she trusted him, and he had proven worthy so she had trusted him more. Yet, she knew that was a tactical error; he was going to leave, was destined for more than her sad little life could ever hope, and she could neither follow him nor hold him back.

Like her father, he would one day be gone, and like her almost-seven-year-old self, there would be nothing she could do to stop it.

* * *

Later that night, at home, Mary pawed through Jinx's closet for something that would fit her, that was prom-appropriate, and wasn't stained with spilled beverages or other things she didn't want to think about. Finally, in the back, she found something promising: a vibrant red dress in a cut that was not yet out of style. It appeared to be in good condition. Mary thought that Jinx might have bought it for a Valentine's Day party the year before; Mary remembered that her mother had been ill and unable to attend, and must not have remembered to return the dress after the fact. Chances were good it was completely unused, and as far back in the closet as it was, Jinx probably wouldn't care if she took it.

She might have considered asking permission, but Jinx was out. She hoped her mother was at her job, but chances were equally good she was out drinking somewhere. Mary just hoped her mother would call in the latter case, necessitating a bus ride in the rain to go get her, rather than attempt to drive home herself.

Mary tried the dress on, finding that it fit almost perfectly, and the cut and color flattered her. Brandi came in the room and sat on the bed, looking at her questioningly.

"Why're you dressing up?" she asked, obviously curious.

"Marshall asked me to prom. I was stupid enough to say yes."

"That's not stupid, Mary! That's awesome!" Brandi beamed. "I wish I could go to a prom…"

Mary rolled her eyes. "You will, Squish, when you're in high school."

"If I make it that far," Brandi replied, glancing at the floor.

"Why wouldn't you make it that far?" Mary turned, now totally focused on her sister. "Are you having problems at school?"

"No… I just feel like, the way things are with Mom… like maybe I won't make it," Brandi explained nervously, looking very much like she might start to cry.

Mary nodded slowly. "You know, Squish… I felt like that too, sometimes."

"Really?" Brandi looked at her sister with wide eyes.

"Yeah. After Daddy left, everything got so hard, and it's like Mom just decided it was okay to check out after that. She drank some before, but not as much. But I had you to take care of, and I couldn't give up, and now here I am."

"But I don't have anyone to take care of," Brandi remarked in confusion. Mary sat next to her sister on the bed and hugged her.

"No, but you still have me to take care of you. I won't leave you, Squish."

Brandi nodded, wiping away the stray tears that had managed to escape, careful not to get them on her sister's dress. Mary took a deep breath. As she stroked her sister's hair and looked out the window, into the night and the pouring rain, she knew it was a promise she would do anything to keep.

* * *

**A/N: That's right, prom is gonna happen! I couldn't really write a high school fic without it! And what else might happen in the upcoming chapters? You won't know unless you stick around to find out! **

**As always, let me know what you thought of this chapter! Review, review, review - keep the muses well-fed so they won't abandon me again! =P**


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue!**

**Author's Note: Another magical update, as promised! It's Prom Night! Now the question is whether anything in teenage Mary's life can happen without drama... well, that remains to be seen...**

* * *

**Fish Out of Water**

**Chapter 18**

She was gorgeous, Marshall thought as he stepped from the cab and found her waiting for him on her front stoop. Mary was swathed in a dress that fit her to near-perfection, strawberry red and what Marshall assumed was a current style. Her hair was pulled back from her face and secured by a clip, hanging in ringlets; she had either curled it, or someone had curled it for her. He glanced sideways to see Brandi watching eagerly from the window, and behind her, Jinx.

The older woman wore an odd expression on her face, a kind of forced-neutral-covering-bitterness that made Marshall feel unsettled. He supposed that kind of thing might be somewhat natural; he'd heard speculation that there was often friction between mothers and teenage daughters because the mother had a difficult time accepting her daughter as a woman, one who looked like a younger, often prettier version of herself, and that sounded like the kind of neurosis Jinx was likely to harbor.

"Hey," he breathed softly as he came to a stop in front of Mary. "I got this for you." He held up a box with a corsage in it; he'd had no idea what she was going to wear, so he'd chosen a white rose, thinking it would go with anything. She took the box from his hand and held it open for him as he drew the flowered ornament out and carefully affixed it to her dress.

"It's beautiful, Marshall," she murmured, a faint blush making her face glow.

A match flared behind the glass as Jinx lit a cigarette; she sucked on it for a moment, watching Marshall with narrowed eyes before turning from the window and retreating to the depths of the house.

"Are you sure you don't need my dad to watch Brandi?" Marshall asked tentatively.

"Jinx is home," Mary replied. "She says she can handle Squish for tonight."

Marshall nodded his hesitant acceptance, brushing his misgivings aside. Mary knew better than he did what Jinx could and couldn't be trusted with, he supposed. He met Mary's gaze with a grin.

"Your carriage awaits," he gestured to the cab. She laughed, tucked the box behind the potted plant on the porch, and took his hand, letting him lead her to the car.

"So, what's the deal, you couldn't afford a limo?" she smirked as she stepped into the backseat.

"No, I could. I just didn't want you to know that," he replied humorously.

"Seriously," she swatted at him playfully as they settled into the back and the cab pulled away from the curb.

"Did you want to go to prom in a limo?" he asked, eyeing her pointedly.

"Hell no."

"Well, there you go."

She laughed again, her hand still in his, and impulsively he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. Mary faltered and looked away, taken aback by the suddenness of his action and the heat that had flared in his eyes, if only for a moment. A jolt of excitement had shot through her at that look; she did her best to quell the chaos that brimmed within her. The last thing she needed now was to complicate things any further.

"Where are we going for dinner?" she asked, a handy deflection since she was, in fact, hungry.

"You'll see," he smirked. "Don't worry, you'll like it."

His words proved true, for dinner was all Mary could have dreamed of. The menu was filled with untold treasures - or they would have been untold, except each item had a mouth-watering description printed next to it, and each dish sounded more delicious that the last. There was something odd about the menu though; it lacked certain information that, to Mary, seemed more than a little pertinent.

"Marshall," she hissed, "there are no prices on this. How am I supposed to order?"

"Well, you tell the waiter what you want, and then he brings it to you. Unless the waiter is a waitress, in which case you tell _her _what you want, and _she _brings it to you."

"That's not what I mean!" her tone grew slightly desperate. "How am I supposed to order something cheap if I don't know what it costs?"

"I'll give you a hint, Mare: _nothing _here is what you would consider cheap, but I don't care if you order the most expensive thing on the menu. It's covered, especially since we didn't waste money on a limo."

"The real reason you went with a cab is because you knew I'd break your food budget?" she asked, aghast.

"The real reason I went with a cab is because I knew you wouldn't care, and I wanted you to be able to order whatever you felt like having. And I'd feel stupid rolling up in a limo anyway, the same as you."

Their server approached the table and asked if they were ready to order, and Mary stared at Marshall helplessly.

"We'll start with the artichoke dip appetizer," Marshall addressed the man, "then I'm going to have the chicken Kiev."

"And for the lady?"

Mary remained frozen like a deer in headlights.

"The lady," Marshall spoke up again, his eyes showing obvious amusement at calling Mary by that title, "will have the New York strip steak, rare, and the lobster tails."

"Very good, sir," the waiter replied before scuttling away.

"Marshall!" Mary hissed again. "You can't order that for me after you ordered chicken! Chicken is, like, always the cheapest thing on the menu! Steak _and _lobster tails? I don't even want to think about how expensive that is!"

"I ordered chicken because I like chicken, and I've heard the chicken Kiev here is excellent. Also, I'm planning on eating one of your lobster tails, too."

"Oh, really?" Mary glared at him. "We'll just see about that!"

Marshall chuckled softly. "That's my girl."

* * *

They caught another cab to the dance itself, and Mary settled at a table while Marshall went to find them something to drink. Dinner had been amazing, and she had indeed surrendered one of her lobster tails to Marshall after she saw how big they were; she had no idea lobsters could get that big, and she briefly wondered what they'd been fed before deciding she really didn't want to know. Now that she was at the dance, though, she was having misgivings once more. She didn't want to dance and she knew she'd eventually have to - there was no avoiding it, really, because it was exactly the kind of sappy crap Marshall would be into, and she didn't want to ruin the night for him. He'd done so much for her already, and she wanted to give something back before they were forced to go their separate ways.

Then there was the fact that as much as she kept trying to convince herself that she didn't want to be here, that she was only doing him a favor, it didn't quite ring true in her heart. Certainly, she felt awkward, wearing a dress too beautiful for her and surrounded by people she barely knew and most definitely didn't like, Marshall being the one exception. She didn't want to understand how his presence alone could make her want to be here; those were feelings that had to be denied if she would ever be able to move on once he was gone.

She glanced down at the corsage he'd given her, remembering how his hand had trembled slightly as he'd affixed it just above her breast. He _would _get all nervous about something like that. Undoubtedly, he'd hoped she wouldn't notice, and she'd pretended she hadn't accordingly. The corsage really was beautiful. After a quick look around to make sure no one was paying attention, she ducked her head and sniffed it. She smiled; a rose by any other name really _did _smell as sweetly. _Did I really just think that? _she chastised herself, feeling amused nonetheless. Marshall was a terrible influence on her in some ways, mainly academically. She'd learned things over the school year that she had never intended to know.

She'd felt things she had never intended to feel.

"Is everything alright?" Marshall asked as he sat next to her and handed her a glass of punch.

"I'm fine," she replied, forcing a smile. "Thanks."

Marshall's brow furrowed slightly as she sipped. She hadn't noticed him coming back, and he'd caught her looking pensive. Perhaps expecting her to enjoy herself in a dress had been too much to ask. He hoped asking her to prom hadn't been a mistake; he knew she had likely accepted out of a sense of obligation, but he'd genuinely hoped she would have a good time, as well.

"Maybe we should get in line for pictures soon, get it out of the way," he offered. He knew she wouldn't enjoy that part of the night particularly, but his mother would very likely skin him alive if he didn't get photos to commemorate the event, and afterward he'd have the rest of the evening to coax Mary into enjoying herself.

Perhaps, then, she'd think there was something between them that was worth fighting for.

"What's with that, anyway?" she asked, her tone curious. "Your mom seems like she'd be the type to want me to come over and take a bunch of pictures before we even left. Did you sneak out or something?"

"She wanted to, but you got lucky. My aunt had to have surgery unexpectedly. It's nothing too serious, but she needs a little extra help so my mom's staying with her for a week or two. She took off yesterday."

"Huh," Mary grunted, nodding slowly. "Okay, let's take your pictures so your mom doesn't flip her shit on you when she gets back."

A short while later, Mary found herself being coached into an awkwardly faux-intimate pose with Marshall by a photographer who was likely, she decided, some kind of a pervert; he kept telling Marshall to put his hands here or there, to cozy up to her in ways that made her cringe with the knowledge that this picture would likely end up on display in Marshall's parents' home for anyone to see, and with every adjustment she became more stiff and awkward, making the process all the more tedious.

She wanted to simply relax and get it over with, but she couldn't. Every time Marshall moved closer, every time she felt his hands move as the pervert-photographer instructed, she flashed back to the night they'd spent together. A heated blush flooded her face, growing worse with each moment and certainly not hidden by the light make-up she wore. When she felt Marshall's hands on her bare arms, she nearly jumped out of her skin; she hadn't been expecting it because the photographer hadn't given that particular direction.

"Try to relax," he murmured, rubbing her arms slowly. "It doesn't have to be perfect."

"It's taking forever," she hissed, turning to glare at him when he chuckled softly.

"It's been barely more than a minute," he replied, smiling in amusement at her exaggeration. "If you hate it that much, I won't make you do it."

She was tempted, ever so tempted, to take him up on his offer… but she knew his mother would be disappointed, and she was unwilling to subject him to that in order to save herself some minor inconvenience and embarrassment.

"No, I can do it," she murmured quietly. "I just wish that pervert would quit posing us around like he's been doing. I think he's enjoying the show a little too much."

Marshall pulled her back against him, sliding his arms around her midsection and holding her snugly. Taken by surprise, her hands fluttered involuntarily to his wrists to push him away; she froze as he nuzzled her ear over her shoulder.

"Just go with it," he whispered, and after a moment, she relaxed into his arms. "Now think about me trying to ice-skate."

A smile blossomed across her face.

"That's a nice face," the photographer remarked. "Now, slide your right hand a little to the left…"

"Just take the damn picture," Marshall ordered, grinning over Mary's shoulder as he tightened his hold on her slightly.

A short flash of light later, the ordeal was over and done. Mary pulled away, and Marshall let her go reluctantly, following her to the buffet table. The pair loitered there for a while as Mary snacked and complained intermittently about the lacking quality, quantity, and variety of the food, spoiled by the dishes she'd had at dinner. Marshall kept thinking of how she had felt against him when they'd taken the picture. She felt like he remembered; warm and soft, though not too soft, and just tense enough that she felt like Mary, and while she'd been irritated by having her picture taken, when he'd held her, he had felt genuinely happy.

"So," she mumbled around a mouthful of food, her hand coming to her mouth to prevent crumbs from escaping, "do you want to dance now, or what?"

Marshall's eyebrows rose in surprise. "I quite literally thought you would never ask."

"Well, I know you're going to want to," she continued chewing as she spoke. "So I thought I might as well get it over with. It's like ripping off a band-aid."

"I'd be honored," he replied, "but do you think you can swallow first?"

Mary rolled her eyes and held up a finger indicating that he should wait a moment. She chewed hurriedly, then swallowed and downed her glass of punch.

"Okay, how about now?" she asked, smirking.

He smiled and held out his arm for her; she rolled her eyes again, linked her arm through his, and followed him onto the dance floor. The two of them bounced around in the midst of the other dancers. They had no particular idea what it was they were doing, but no one else seemed to have a clue either. The current song gave way to one with a much slower pace. Marshall pulled Mary to him before she could get away; he'd seen her ready to bolt when the music changed.

"Come on, Mare. You have to slow-dance at least once; it's prom," he murmured, playing it off as a joke while his heart was pounding with the hope that she would stay.

"Hmph. Fine," she agreed, with far less resistance than either of them had expected.

If Mary was being honest with herself, she found the prospect of dancing with Marshall more than a little appealing. She allowed him to draw her close, nestling against him with her head against his chest.

"This can be our song," he teased.

"Don't push your luck. 'Take My Breath Away' will be our song over my dead body," she snapped. "Who the hell is this DJ, anyway?"

She was rewarded with Marshall's soft laughter, rumbling through his chest and into her ear along with the steady beating of his heart.

"Your heart's pounding," she commented, sliding her hand down his chest to rest over the pulsing beat. "I can hear it."

"Of course you can," he murmured. "It's right there."

Mary looked up at him, and as she did, meeting his stare with her own, his breath hitched and she felt the pounding under her palm intensify for a moment. His body was pressed close to hers, and he leaned in, letting his eyes fall closed as he brushed a feather-light kiss over her lips.

It was Mary's turn; her heart raced as he pulled back just far enough to look at her again. His eyes were filled with want and unspoken promises, and she felt like she needed to run… but under that feeling, there was another urge, the urge to let herself drown in him.

She felt his fingertips on her cheek; they trailed slowly over her blushing skin and down her neck, coming to rest just above her cleavage over her heart. A smile teased at the edges of Marshall's lips as his hand hovered there.

"Your heart's pounding too," he whispered.

"It's you," Mary replied softly, without even thinking of what she was confessing. "It always does that around you."

"I make your heard pound?"

"Yes," the word tumbled breathlessly from her lips.

"Mary, I…" Marshall began to speak, but hesitated as something changed in her expression; she was no longer looking at him, but past him. He turned to see what had caught her attention.

A pair of uniformed police officers were talking to one of the teachers chaperoning the dance. The teacher searched the crowd for a moment before pointing the officers in his and Mary's direction.

"Oh no," she breathed, a tone of panic overtaking her voice.

Marshall couldn't blame her; whatever the police were here for, it was unlikely to be anything good, and there was every chance they'd found out about the night at the bowling alley… There was nothing to do but to face it, but that didn't have to be done in the middle of a crowded dance floor. He led her off, heading in the direction of the officers, her hand gripped firmly in his.

"Mary Shannon?" one of the approaching officers addressed her. Mary could only nod numbly in response. In spite of the fact that Marshall had gotten her away from the majority of their classmates, a few people were already beginning to stare and point.

"May I ask what this is all about?" Marshall asked, hoping the officers would come to the point before they had the attention of the entire prom.

"You're the daughter of Jinx Shannon?"

"Yes," Mary replied, finally finding her voice. "Did something happen?"

"There's been an accident. You're going to need to come with us."

"No," she whispered, eyes widened in shock. "No, that's not possible. Jinx is at home watching my sister."

The officer checked his notepad. "Your sister is Brandi Shannon?"

Mary nodded, her heart in her throat as one tear slipped loose and tracked down her cheek.

"Your sister was also involved in the accident. Your mother is being charged with vehicular manslaughter. We really need you to come with us."

"Is my sister okay?" Mary whimpered, trembling slightly. The officer looked over his notes again.

"I'm sorry, I don't have that information. We can get this sorted out down at the station."

"I'm coming too," Marshall stepped in, gripping Mary by the arm. She looked like she was going to fall over, and she'd gone stark white. Marshall didn't imagine he looked much better. Surely the officers couldn't be telling them that Brandi was dead…

Marshall led Mary outside behind the officers, barely holding both her and himself together as he pulled her into the back of the police cruiser after him. She was shaking in his arms, and he held her tightly all the way to the police station, feeling that he was hardly able to breathe.

* * *

**A/N: Cliffhangers: can't seem to lay off 'em! Trust the muses, dear readers! They seem to actually know what they're doing for once, so be sure to stick around for tomorrow's update! And please review! I love reading your thoughts as much as you love reading my stories! =D**


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: I don't own IPS. I'm just so, so mean to the characters! Sorry about that!**

**Author's Note: I'd apologize for yesterday's cliffie, but really, wouldn't you rather have the resolution to that than an apology? Here's the next chapter, as promised! =P**

* * *

**Fish Out of Water**

**Chapter 19**

The precinct was a sea of chaos; officers and detectives bustled around desks and filled out paperwork and hauled perps into booking and down to holding. There were drunks and scumbags and more than a few kids in prom dresses and tuxes like themselves, though unlike themselves those others were either under arrest or waiting to be collected by a parent with a stern warning, depending on the infraction, which likely ranged from drinking underage to driving drunk or recklessly to public indecency to who-knew-what. Marshall took all this in at a glance as they headed toward the desk to which they'd been directed; he was following one of the uniforms who'd brought them in, and was guiding Mary in turn. He doubted she was comprehending much of anything, as the sheer terror she felt at the possibility of losing her sister rolled off of her almost palpably in waves.

"Mary!" a shrill, frightened voice instantly recognizable as Brandi's cried out from the crowded room. Mary's head snapped up as if she'd come awake suddenly, her eyes wild and searching.

"Brandi?" she called desperately, searching for her sister in the mess of officers and people giving statements, too many faces to sort through at once.

"There," Marshall pointed out as he spotted the girl's blonde head bouncing up and down frantically by a desk, his height giving him the advantage.

"Oh God, Squish," Mary cried as she ran to her sister, sweeping her up in her arms; the girl latched on to her older sister and wrapped her legs around her sister's waist like a child much smaller, confused and terrified by whatever had happened.

The sight of Mary, in tears and a strawberry red prom dress, holding her sister who was much too big to hold and whom she had recently believed might be dead, stopped Marshall in his tracks and made his heart feel like it was collapsing in on itself. He tried to choke back the wave of emotion that swept over him, but before he knew it he was at their side, three long strides bringing him close enough to pull both girls into his arms as the tears started to fall. He cried silently against Mary's hair, unable to hold back the torrent of feelings that he'd been bottling up since he'd first thought Brandi had been taken from them forever. The younger girl buried her face in Mary's shoulder and cried too; they still hadn't been told what had happened to her, but the strain of the evening was clearly showing itself.

"Excuse me," a harsh female voice interrupted them. "What are you doing?"

The three looked up to see an imposing and rather angry-looking woman approaching the desk.

"We were at prom when two officers came to get Mary," Marshall spoke first, shakily brushing his tears away and struggling to compose himself. "They couldn't tell us whether or not Brandi was okay, just that there was some kind of accident. They told us someone died but they didn't know who. We thought... We were afraid it was her."

"And who are you, exactly?"

"I'm her sister," Mary spoke up. "When can I take her home?"

"I don't think that would be a very good idea, seeing as your mother saw fit to drive drunk with her in the car," the woman replied sharply. Marshall's eyes widened at her words; he felt Mary flinch next to him.

"I'm eighteen. I can take care of her," Mary said firmly, hiding the desperation in her voice from all present, save for Marshall.

"I'm sorry, but I can't take your word for that. The child will have to remain in the care of social services until appropriate guardianship can be established."

Brandi clung to her sister a little more tightly.

"Please don't," Mary pleaded. "Please don't take her."

"I'm afraid I have no choice," the social worker responded. "Your mother hit a man with her car and killed him, and endangered your sister in the process. Now don't make this harder for Brandi than it has to be; set her down so I can take her to the group home for the rest of the night. A temporary foster care placement can be arranged on Monday until the hearing to determine guardianship."

"Excuse me," Marshall butted in. "Then why were we brought in?"

"We asked her if there were any other children living in the home and she told us she had a sister. We needed to confirm that her sister was also safe. But as Mary is no longer a minor, she is not under the jurisdiction of child welfare."

"Don't you usually try to place children with a capable relative before you turn to foster care?" he asked, shifting tactics.

"What about an eighteen year old who has not yet graduated high school, let alone received a secondary education, and who has no form of income, sounds capable to you?"

"Mary has raised Brandi since she was an infant," he answered, his tone taking on a hard edge. "Taking care of her sister and her worthless drunk of a mother has been a full-time job for Mary since she was seven years old."

"If she had been any kind of responsible caregiver, she would have called social services long ago," the woman replied grimly.

"I've done everything for my sister," Mary growled.

"Everything?" the social worker replied. "It seems to me that you've done everything but give your sister and yourself a chance at a proper home. Now please, release the child into my custody, before I have you arrested along with your mother."

"I think you have to, Mare," Marshall murmured in her ear, his hand gripping her shoulder as he turned his gaze on the social worker. "But this isn't over."

"She'll have her say at the custody hearing," she replied evenly.

Mary swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut, nodding slowly. She lowered her sister to the floor. Brandi clung to her still; Mary removed the corsage Marshall had given her and pinned it to Brandi's shirt.

"It's okay, Squish," Mary told her sister, her voice shaking. "This lady will take you somewhere to stay for the night, and things will get straightened out soon, I promise."

It wasn't exactly a lie; things _would _get straightened out sooner or later, though not necessarily in Mary's favor. She didn't think her sister could handle the whole truth right now, though, not on top of everything else that had happened. Her sister was physically unhurt, and for now, Mary had to accept that as enough.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" Brandi asked suspiciously. Mary glanced up to see the social worker shaking her head.

"Probably not," she admitted.

"Then I don't want to go. I want to stay with you and Marshall."

"I know you do, but what Mom did was really, really bad, and because of that, they don't want to leave you with me."

"You're not like Mom, Mary," Brandi whimpered.

"Thank you, Squish," Mary replied, hugging her sister. "We just have to hope they decide that's true."

Mary watched as the woman from social services ushered Brandi from the room; only when the girl was out of her sight did she allow herself to break down. She sank into a chair and pressed her hands to her face, sobbing outright in a way that made Marshall's heart break for her. She seemed utterly broken, sadly beautiful in her prom dress in the middle of a police station, even in tears.

One of the officers who had brought them in gave Marshall a sympathetic look and offered them a ride home in the patrol car; Marshall could only nod, for the lump in his throat prevented him from speaking just then, and he gathered Mary up and led her after the officer into the damp night air.

Once outside, Mary tucked under his arm, Marshall made his way for the car the officer had indicated, only to stop short. A familiar silver pickup truck waited in the parking lot, and leaning against it was the all-too-recognizable form of Seth Mann. _Shit, _he thought; of all times for his dad to get involved… someone at the police station must have recognized his name when they'd been brought in, and called his father.

"Mary," he turned to her, speaking softly as he draped his coat over her shoulders, "I have to handle something. I'm so, so sorry."

She glanced in the direction he'd just been looking, and recognized the truck. "Your dad?"

"Yeah. I'm going to see what he wants. Go home, sleep, and I'll come check on you as soon as I can." He leaned forward, kissed her forehead as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Don't worry. We'll find a way out of this."

She didn't really believe him, but she nodded numbly and allowed the uniformed officer to lead her to his car. Marshall watched until the patrol car was out of sight, then turned to face his father.

Seth Mann was tense, angry; he gestured wordlessly for Marshall to get in the truck, and they rode home in silence.

* * *

"Vehicular manslaughter?" Seth glared at his son. "These are the people with whom you've chosen to associate?"

"Dad…" Marshall growled, forcing himself to remain calm. "Mary's mother is a nightmare. Mary's been living with this for a long time. I can assure you, however, that Mary does not deserve to be judged for her mother's mistakes."

"She's a good girl, is that what you're saying? I suppose that's why your mother and I have never met her," Seth replied, eyeing his son as though sizing him up. "A man is dead, Marshall."

Once they'd gotten home, Seth had sat him down in the kitchen, and Marshall had told him everything. Well, not quite everything; he'd left out the part about Mary's kidnapping and near-rape, the gunplay and arson that had followed, and the fact that they'd subsequently made love, though he had a feeling his father suspected the last part. Everything else was on the table, though; Jinx's abuses, both in terms of neglect and physical harm, Mary's constant struggles to keep Brandi safe and to pay the bills, and his involvement in her life. He'd even lightly skated across the subject of his growing reluctance to go away to college without her, but that was a subject best held over for another day.

"A regrettable fact, but nonetheless, one that has nothing to do with Mary," Marshall said evenly. "You seem to like Brandi well enough."

"Brandi is a child!" Seth barked angrily.

"And so was Mary, when this all started. She's done her best with a situation most people couldn't handle at all."

Seth heaved a sigh. "When Al called me from the station, telling me you'd been brought in with a young woman, I didn't expect anything like this."

"Truthfully, Dad, had I known I was going to be sitting at the kitchen table being lectured by you at one in the morning on prom night, I would have expected it to be for completely different reasons."

Seth glared at his son for a moment before looking away and uttering a soft scoffing sound which Marshall recognized as a jaded laugh; in his father's line of work, one had to develop a sense of humor that was a bit unconventional.

"Don't let your mother hear you talking like that," his father commented wryly. "She still thinks you're her baby boy, getting ready for your first day of kindergarten."

"I had noticed that, actually," Marshall replied, pursing his lips.

"I'm just glad she's not here. This situation is tangled up enough without her in the mix. I think we both know what would happen then."

"She wouldn't want me to see Mary anymore," Marshall said quietly. He glanced up at his father. "And you?"

"Marshall…" Seth sighed. "Her family is clearly a train wreck. Your mother's right to be uncomfortable with never having met her, in any case. That said… when I went down to the precinct to get you tonight, I expected to find a boy waiting for me, one who'd gotten himself in some kind of trouble or other. It happens; I know you're brighter than your brothers, but nothing made me think you were incapable of doing something stupid."

Marshall looked to the floor as a sense of shame washed over him.

"But that boy is not what I found. Instead, I found a man, willing and able to look after those he cares about, protecting what's his."

Marshall looked up at his father questioningly.

"When I saw that, I realized that at some point along the way, you grew up. I must not have been looking when it happened…"

_You have no idea, _Marshall thought, silent as he waited for his father to continue.

"…but seeing that now… I'm proud of you."

"Dad…" Marshall choked out, emotional and surprised all at once.

"The girl's being put into foster care until Mary can prove she can care for her?" Seth asked, cutting him off.

"Yes," Marshall replied.

"And if Mary gets custody, this is something you're willing to take on with her, caring for this child?"

Marshall met his father's assessing stare and nodded.

"You're an adult now, Marshall. Whether this is the course you want to take, whether you want to continue seeing Mary… these are your decisions now."

"What about Mom?"

"Just bring me a blanket when she makes me sleep in the doghouse."

"We don't have a dog," Marshall smiled faintly.

"Then I guess I'm really screwed, but it's no concern of yours," Seth assured him. "Your mother will come around as soon as I can convince her to see what I see in you. It'll help if you still manage to go to college," he added pointedly

Marshall nodded as he replied. "Dad, I'm sorry. For all of this. For not introducing you to her. She was…"

"She thought we wouldn't like her," Seth replied. "And she wouldn't have been wrong, son. I would have judged her for her family just like she thought, until I saw the man you've become for her."

Marshall closed his eyes, trying to calm the emotional turmoil he was holding in. He'd been prepared for anything from his father, a stern dressing down, being grounded for life, an order to never see Mary again… anything but words of praise. A rasping sound on the table caught his attention and he opened his eyes; his father had pushed the truck keys across to him.

"Go be with your friend, Marshall," his dad said quietly. "She has nothing left right now, and she needs you."

"Thank you," he murmured as he took the keys, not quite able to believe it was happening.

"I'll need it in the morning, so bring it back by then."

"I can just walk," Marshall offered.

"In the middle of the night, in the dark? I don't think so." With that, Seth waved him out the door.

* * *

Marshall cut the engine and sat outside Mary's house for a moment. His thoughts were a jumbled torrent of chaos, refusing to be organized no matter how hard he tried to focus. Mary's world was falling apart and the matter of Jinx was clearly beyond all possibility of repair; so, too, might be the situation with Brandi, and that was unacceptable. Without Brandi, Mary would be unable to move on, and Marshall knew Mary would feel she had failed her sister. _God forbid Mary be allowed one night, _he thought bitterly, _one night without Jinx losing control._

There remained the fact that his father was now aware of certain elements of his relationship with Mary. He clearly knew what Mary meant to Marshall. How could he not? Marshall had worn his heart on his sleeve, and Seth Mann was neither blind nor an idiot. By extension, his mother would soon know as well, and he felt it was unlikely she would take the news quite as well. However, those were concerns for another day; right now, there were only Mary and Brandi to be concerned with, and one of them had already been taken away. Mary remained, the only person he could help, and he knew she needed him desperately.

He left the truck and made his way to the front door. A knock brought no answer; he tried the knob and found it unlocked, so he let himself in as he cautiously called her name. Closing the door and locking it behind him, he made his way to the bedroom.

Mary lay on her bed, staring at the empty bed across the room from her. She didn't seem to register his presence at all until he spoke.

"The door was unlocked. That isn't safe, Mare."

"Doesn't matter," she replied, her tone wooden and dead. "There's nothing left in this house worth protecting. It's all my fault."

He settled on the edge of the bed, pushing the skirt of the dress she still wore out of the way.

"Don't say that," he murmured as he leaned forward to push her hair back from her face. Her eyelids were swollen from crying but her tears had dried up; she had cried until she had nothing left. He rested his forehead against her temple and closed his eyes. "We will get through this, somehow."

"How?" she asked, her voice breaking hopelessly.

"I don't know, yet, but we'll find a way. There just isn't any other option."

Mary stirred and he sat back, giving her room to move; she sat up as well, staring at him as though finally deciding he was really there.

"I'm sorry, Marshall," she said softly, her voice catching in her throat.

"For what?"

"For always pushing you away," she whispered, reaching for his hand. "For pretending I don't need you when I… when I don't know what I'll do when you're gone."

His hands were cupping her face before she finished speaking, and he pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead.

"Don't be sorry. You've been trying to protect yourself and I never promised you I'd stay," he murmured in understanding, "but I'm promising you now."

* * *

**A/N: It's been pretty bumpy lately, and there are still a few more bumps in store, as well as a few more chapters. I hope you'll all hang in there for the rest! **

**Let me know what you thought of this chapter, and I'll see you next time! I've got some hurt/comfort cooking up for the next chapter... emphasis on comfort... ;)**


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: I don't own IPS, or else it would clearly be a high-school drama. ;P**

**Author's Note: I remind you that this fic is rated M, and I'm making use of that. Maybe y'all weren't given to having angst-sex as teenagers when times were tough, but it's been known to happen, and it's happening here. Then we'll spend some time in Seth-town, because he's been talking to me a lot lately, and you might need a kleenex for that part because I know I did. Enjoy.**

* * *

**Fish Out of Water**

**Chapter 20**

"Marshall," Mary whimpered, "don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

"Who says I can't keep it?" he asked softly.

"You can't do this to me. You know you have to leave, so please, please don't do this to me." Her voice shook as her heart plunged to new depths; she had thought she could cry no more, but she couldn't take false promises on top of everything else that had happened, on top of losing her sister.

"Mary, no," he whispered. "I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't promise I'd stay unless I was willing to make it happen."

"You have to go. There's more for you than this…" she gestured helplessly around her.

Marshall knew she meant more than the room in which they sat, more than those precious few belongings that she and her sister shared. She meant everything she had ever known, which might as well have been that room and those things for as small as her world was. Small, and oh-so-bitter, that life; every hand outstretched for help slapped away or bitten until it learned not to reach for anything.

She could not allow herself to reach for him, and so he reached for her instead, pulling her into a tight embrace. He would not allow her to pull back this time, at least not until he knew for sure that she didn't want him… and he growing more and more certain that she did.

Mary shivered in his grip, the sense of captivity alien and frightening and strangely appealing; she found it was something she wanted, as much as she didn't want to want it. Another feeling burst through the heavy blanket of anguish that had been laid over her when Brandi was taken away; it coursed through her like a fire raging out of control, and she gave herself over to it.

Her lips were pressed to his before he knew what was happening. She kissed him insistently, her hands wandering like they were lost. He let his hands slide down her arms to hers, stopping them in place on his chest.

"Mary…" he breathed, "are you sure?"

"I need you, Marshall," she whispered pleadingly. "I need to feel anything but this. I need to know that you… that you want me."

Marshall hugged her tightly to him again. "How could you think I don't want you? I've done nothing but want you since we met."

"Then show me," she demanded. She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his once more.

He let himself kiss her back, knew she wouldn't be asking for this if she didn't need it, need _him,_ and in truth, he needed her as well. Their shared despair over Brandi had brought them to this point; in a world filled with people, they were mutually alone and desperately needed that connection to one another.

Her hands worked the buttons of his shirt as he drew her dress's zipper down; momentarily, she moved on to his pants as he slid the dress from her shoulders. She paused for a moment, reaching back to undo her bra and discard it, baring her breasts to him as he slid out of his shirt. As soon as his hands were free, they cupped her breasts, thumbs grazing stiffened nipples, and she moaned softly as he leaned forward and took one into his mouth.

Her panties emerged from beneath the skirt of her dress and were cast aside; once more, she set about releasing his now-straining erection, a task of which she made short work. All at once her hands were on him, stroking him clumsily but it still felt so much more than good, and he uttered a throaty groan with her nipple still in his mouth. He moved to suck the other one, leaving the first nearly as red as her dress instead of its usual shade of pink.

There was a small tearing sound, and he felt her roll a condom over him; he jerked slightly in her hand, an involuntary reaction to his arousal. She lay back and he followed, his hands under her dress and pushing up the skirt until he could find his way, and then he was pushing into her, exquisite even with the condom in place, exactly that for which he'd ached for so long. He gave a soft moan and closed his eyes as he filled her, the dress bunched around her midsection between them, and he turned his head to suckle at her throat.

Mary sucked in a breath that gave way to a ragged moan; this was far different from the first time, less painful but so much more urgent. She needed him, and he had given, and the feeling of him inside her was unbearably good. He thrust into her again and she moved her hips against him, meeting his efforts and encouraging him to show the aggression that she needed. The fabric of her dress rustled and bounced as he complied, surging into her repeatedly until she went over the edge. She cried out and trembled as she came, a night of emotional chaos and frustration exploding in a torrent of physical ecstasy. A moment later, Marshall tensed and let out a low groan that seemed to claw its way up his throat, collapsing on top of her as he pulsed within her depths.

Marshall's breath came raggedly in her ear as he rolled slightly to the side, his weight comforting without crushing as he slipped from her. His arms were around her again, holding her gently as thought she was some fragile thing that might come apart if handled too roughly, and Mary was forced to admit to herself that she was, at the moment, exactly that. His kind touch, his delicate handling of her that she was constantly forcing herself to believe she would never need was now desperately necessary; these were needs that had gone unfulfilled for better than half a lifetime, and certainly the only part of her life she remembered clearly. Her absent father, her neglectful mother… these were things which, in the sudden shock of her sister being taken from her, could no longer be shoved below the surface and ignored.

Mary's hands went to her face and she hid her tears behind them until Marshall pulled them away and drew her to his chest; she cried against him, his hands traversing her bare, heaving shoulders and stroking through her somewhat tangled hair. She had not bothered to take it down properly or brush it, had only torn from it in a fury the heavy, ornate clip her mother had secured there and hurled the offending object at the bathroom mirror, which now bore a spider's web of cracks from the swift, angry strike of her fist that had followed in testament to her rage and heartbreak. Now Marshall tried to restore order in the only way he could, and it soothed Mary even when it pulled, causing her to flinch and him to whisper apologies… but he didn't stop, and she didn't want him to.

She settled again after a time, but he did not let go. The fact that she had quieted didn't mean the hurt was gone; her breathing told him she was still awake, and from the hollowness in his own chest that remained after the night's events, he knew her pain wouldn't abate for some time to come. He was almost startled when she spoke, finally; he'd grown accustomed to the silence around them.

"I never even asked them if Jinx was okay," she said slowly in a low whisper.

"I know," he replied just as softly.

"I just don't care."

"I know."

He fell silent again, as did she; there was nothing else to say about Jinx. She had finally ruined her own life, had ended the life of a stranger, and it looked as though there was little to be done to rectify the impact of her actions on Mary and Brandi. He could not fault Mary's lack of interest, for Jinx had forfeited the right to have her daughter care for her well-being the moment she'd shown such blatant disregard for both of her children, and tonight's incident was certainly not the first time even though it was likely the worst.

He became aware, too, of the fact that he was still partially dressed, still wearing his shoes, in point of fact, and Mary's dress was still partly on; the top half remained bunched at her waist and the skirt had fallen back far enough to cover her to her knees. He couldn't help but think how indecent they must have looked, him thrusting wantonly into a pile of satin and tulle with her legs wrapped around his back, but it had been needed so badly by both of them.

He tugged the dress down slowly, sliding it over her hips and down her thighs until it was off, and he shoved it to the floor in a heap, knowing she wouldn't care. He shucked his shoes and slid out of his pants the rest of the way, discarding the condom that still stuck to him and cleaning himself off with a handkerchief that he would, in all likelihood, tell his father he'd lost. Giving it back even after washing it would just seem wrong now.

As he rid himself of his socks, he saw that Mary was looking at him questioningly; he answered her with a gentle kiss, because there were no answers anymore. She shifted her weight as he pulled the blankets from under her, and he slid into bed with her and pulled the covers over them both. The twin bed was a tight fit for both of them but there was no need for more; bare skin to bare skin, they pressed together, neither able nor willing to allow space between them. Marshall was not in the habit of sleeping naked, and neither was Mary, but as with the small space of the bed, there was no need for more.

Possibly, too, there would be no actual sleeping; Mary's lips were on his neck and he was hard again, pressed against her belly, and she didn't seem to mind.

The pain, he supposed, had to go somewhere.

* * *

Marshall swung the pickup truck into the driveway. He'd awoken to the cold light of dawn in a tangle of arms and legs and sheets that smelled of sweat, sex, and tears, and Mary. When he'd pulled away the strands of golden hair plastered to his face by his own saliva, escaped during sleep, she'd stirred. He had not particularly wanted to go home after the night they'd spent, or rather, the handful of hours they'd spent talking and doing other things, but after he'd stated his promise to return the truck to his father, Mary had understood. She had informed him, quite convincingly, that she would likely sleep past noon, and sent him out the door with her house key, under orders to lock up behind himself and bring it back later.

This was not being pushed away; he knew that feeling all too well. This was allowing space for the wound to close a little before examining it again. They were both beyond exhausted, and they'd only been asleep for an hour or two before he'd woken up and realized he needed to go home. There was nothing to do now but sleep and deal with everything anew at a later time, and Mary, being Mary, saw no need for Marshall to piss off his dad to achieve that end.

Marshall let himself in, dropped his father's keys and the newspaper collected from the porch on the kitchen table next to his father's briefcase, and made straight for bed, kicking his shoes off as soon as he was in his room. Without bothering to undress or crawl beneath the covers, he collapsed face-first on the bed and let oblivion claim him.

Reality could wait a few hours.

* * *

Seth stopped at his son's bedroom door. He knew Marshall was home; Seth slept lightly and had heard the boy come in, and besides that, the door was left slightly ajar where it had been wide open the night before. Marshall's mother had raised the boys with an open-door policy, and wisely, for Seth's sons had gotten into enough trouble over the years without the added benefit of privacy. That the door was mostly closed told Seth that Marshall desperately wanted to be left alone. It was not that Marshall was shutting him out, as a closed door might have indicated. It was a request for leniency, and Seth was inclined to indulge him. It had been a rough night for all, and Marshall had always been a more sensitive kid than most.

Seth sighed. He really had to get out of the habit of thinking of his son as a boy, when Marshall had demonstrated so clearly those qualities which spoke to Seth of adulthood. He pressed his lips into a wistful smile, a sad cast coming over his eyes as he remembered the child with whom he'd played hide and seek in a stand of cottonwood trees many years ago. A small ache formed in his heart; how could it have been years when he remembered it like it had been only days ago?

The boy - no, the man Marshall had become - was no longer that child, who had sometimes needed a boost into the higher branches when it was one of his older brothers' turns to be 'it'. Seth had always been the best at finding him, though the others had never realized it was because when Seth was not the one seeking, he was occasionally helping Marshall to hide; a grown man could not hide so easily in a game played on the scale of children, and little Marshall's victories were his own. Seth had never told him this, had never expressed the glee he had felt as he watched his smallest son elude his brothers, clever and cunning even when he wasn't assisted. Seth had also never told him that when it was Marshall's turn to seek, he found Seth far more easily than his brothers did, and of that fact, Seth had always been proud.

Now, that little boy who was never led astray by false clues, who would never quit even if the light had gone and his mother was calling him for dinner, had grown up, and Seth had come to realize Marshall was like him in more ways than he'd thought. The sensitive intellectual whom his mother considered her legacy was, in fact, Seth's; those things that mattered most, that Marshall held dearly to his heart were the very same things Seth kept close to his own.

He headed downstairs and, settling at the kitchen table, he opened his briefcase, though it was not a work-day. His hand, with the familiarity of one walking a path traveled often, sought a pocket in the lining of the lid, and drew from it a small, laminated piece of paper. He stared down at a crayon-etched reflection of himself, of the father he'd been next to the image of the last child he'd raised, in fits and starts between assignments, during whatever time could be spared, and let his fingers trace over the drawing and the words scrawled next to it as he had many times before.

_To Daddy._

_Love, Marshall._

Matching stars were worn proudly on the shirts of the figures; of all his sons, the one who had seemed destined to be the least like himself was the one who had wanted it the most, and it struck Seth then with a force greater than gravity that the best job he'd ever had was done. Marshall had taken his first steps into being that man, and Seth's days raising him were over.

* * *

**A/N: *hugs Seth* I'm really starting to love that man. As always, let me know what you think, and hang in there for next time.**


End file.
